


Meltdown

by ScalaSpiral



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Inaccurate Depictions of the Artistic Process, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Yusuke Deserves to Be Happy, Yusuke POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScalaSpiral/pseuds/ScalaSpiral
Summary: Yusuke Kitagawa is out of ideas, nearly out of food, and most certainly out of patience. All he can see ahead of him is endless days of trying to keep up with Sensei’s demands while keeping himself just barely together.If you told him he’d soon have an impossibly dashing/adorkable boyfriend, an eccentric shut-in hacker for a best friend, and a second home in the form of a welcoming coffee shop, he definitely would not believe you.This is the story of a weird art kid who couldn’t save himself (but could save the world).[Persona 5 canon, but with 122% more Yusuke by volume]





	1. A substandard abstract painting fit for an office complex.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect this fic to update with a new chapter every handful of days. I hope you like art and dorks and art dorks.

Yusuke Kitagawa was staring down a canvas that was exactly as blank and drab as he felt, contemplating exactly how much trouble he would be in if he tried to give Sensei a plain gray painting, claiming that it was avant garde.

He couldn’t even remember why he had painted the canvas the color of a concrete slab in the first place. It had seemed like a reasonable idea several hours ago. Unfortunately his memory had a habit of ceasing to work properly when he was this anxious.

Sensei was launching a major exhibit next week, and was expecting that the renewed interest in his work would result in many patrons wishing to purchase his art. That was why he was pressuring Yusuke to produce at least three new paintings before the exhibition finished -- “But I wouldn’t say no to more!” he said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

So far, Yusuke had completed exactly zero of these paintings. In fact, the gray canvas in front of him was so uninspiring that it practically counted as the negation of a painting. 

He had been under this amount of pressure before and everything had turned out fine, he attempted to reassure himself. He couldn’t actually  _ remember _ a time when that had been true, but there probably had been one. He prided himself on his ability to pull himself out of less than ideal situations through sheer stubbornness and willpower. Unfortunately, a total creativity vacuum was not the kind of situation that pure stubbornness could fix. He needed to open himself to the possibilities of the universe, and instead he felt as though he was digging himself into a hole in the earth.

Sensei didn’t approve of him taking walks this late at night, but Sensei wasn’t here and likely wouldn’t be back until the next day. There was no reason he couldn’t get some fresh air instead of pacing restlessly in his room like a prisoner, which he had been doing for the past ten or fifteen minutes without even realizing it.

The cool night air didn’t supply him with a sudden burst of inspiration, but it was still welcome. The bright lights of the city completely blocked any view of the stars, but he still felt a small measure of comfort knowing that they were there, a reminder that there was a vast world outside of his meager sphere of existence. 

A cityscape, perhaps? Sensei wouldn’t accept such an overdone and pedestrian subject unless he found a particularly unique take on it. Said unique take was not immediately forthcoming, naturally.

Something abstract? It was his preferred style, and the style of his last couple of pieces, which was the problem -- Sensei had strongly implied he wanted something different. He was best known for his variety, after all. Yusuke wasn’t sure how he was expected to keep up that variety by himself, but surely Sensei would acquire a new student soon, or perhaps even paint something himself. He hadn’t actually seen Sensei paint since he was a small child, but he was the man who had painted the  _ Sayuri _ . Someday he would undoubtedly wish to return to art himself instead of relying on student pieces…?

He was startled out of his contemplation by his stomach growling loudly. Sensei wasn’t pleased with him, and that meant no pocket money and little food until Yusuke had successfully produced at least one acceptable work. With the way his art slump was going, he was going to have to be extremely careful rationing out his secret ramen stash if he didn’t want to faint in class again.

He briefly considered painting a package of instant ramen, Andy Warhol style. It would undoubtedly be a sincere expression of his desires at the moment. He would almost want to see the look on Sensei’s face, if he didn’t know it would be immediately followed by the swift destruction of the painting and revocation of what privileges still remained to him. His train card, for one.

Sensei had kicked out several of his students when they failed to produce, but Yusuke was surely different. Sensei had raised him and cared about him. He would never be so callous as to turn out Yusuke out onto the street.

He had to keep reminding himself of that, because lately he was starting to have his doubts.

* * *

He really should be paying attention to math class. Math wasn’t his favorite subject, but he did have a certain appreciation for its elegant logic. More importantly, he was in enough hot water with Sensei without adding poor grades to the mix.

Failing that, he should be trying to come up with ideas for the increasingly urgent set of paintings he must produce. In a fit of desperation the night before, he had added some red shapes of varied tones to the gray canvas, hoping to form the basis of a sort of abstract piece. Nothing brilliant, but at least perhaps he could make something aesthetically pleasing. He had woken up at the crack of dawn to Sensei standing in his room, reminding him of his deadline, and taking away his unfinished work. “I know you can do much better than this,” he said, looking at the canvas with displeasure.

Ideas really needed to be his top priority, but a lack of sleep and food was steadily draining his focus. At some point he slipped from thinking about painting to dreaming about what he would buy once Sensei reinstated his pocket money. Convenience store snacks. An extra large beef bowl. New paintbrushes. A sewing kit to repair his school uniform blazer. 

...an all you can eat sushi buffet…

...a warm room with a warm bed...

“Hey, Kitagawa! Having a nice nap?” Yusuke snapped awake as someone roughly kicked the back of his chair and laughed. Class had ended and the students were filing out. He hadn’t seen who had woken him, and it didn’t particularly matter. He packed his things quickly and moved on.

* * *

2am and he was staring at a blank canvas again. Sensei was home, so leaving his room was out of the question. There was nothing to do except sit there and will himself to paint something, glaring at the canvas until either it yielded or he did.

_ Paint something or you’re going to run out of food. _

His hands didn’t move.

_ Paint something or you’re going to be kicked out. _

The canvas remained blank as ever.

_ Your teachers say you have promise and promise and promise but promises don’t mean anything unless they’re fulfilled, and the world doesn’t especially care about the fate of one art student. Better talents than you have faltered and been forgotten. If you don’t prove your right to exist every day with your own hand -- _

Yusuke stood up, neatly kicked his easel into the wall, and went to bed.


	2. Panic is a crucial part of the creative process.

People watching after school was a favorite activity of his for a number of reasons. First, the many unique people he saw in the station gave him ample material for life drawings. Second, it was something he could do that didn’t require any money.

Finally, and most crucially, it allowed him to avoid going home for some time. Home currently held nothing for him but a displeased Sensei and a canvas that mocked him with its emptiness. He would have more than enough time to gaze upon a blank canvas and contemplate impending failure later; there was no need to get a head start on that by heading home early.

Impending failure as the theme of a painting…? He had already done that twice recently and shouldn’t return to that well so soon.

_ That boy. _

Yusuke was suddenly and unexpectedly drawn out of his own head, focusing on a boy who was making his way through the station with a couple of friends.

He had a  _ quality _ about him that Yusuke would never be able to put into words, not that words had ever been his favored medium. Even in paint, Yusuke felt he would struggle to capture exactly what he found so captivating. He was of average build, with a dark mass of unruly hair and strangely reflective glasses that masked his eyes, but none of that was what had caught Yusuke’s interest. It was the way he  _ moved _ \-- he had an easy, unassuming way about him that didn’t seem exactly genuine, but it was impossible to say what exactly it was a cover  _ for _ . His face was similarly unreadable.

Either something about this boy appealed to him on a deeply spiritual level, or the late nights trying to will himself to create art had left him sleep deprived and loopy enough to go emotionally around the bend for a total stranger on the subway. Most likely a bit of both.

Yusuke felt himself sighing wistfully. With a boy like that at his side, he’d  _ never _ lack for inspiration.

It was out of the question, of course, and not just because the unforeseen boy was  _ probably _ not interested in other boys, and  _ certainly _ not interested in an art student whose experience with socializing with people his own age consisted mainly of ignoring them while they whispered behind his back. 

Utter lack of love life aside, Yusuke didn’t dare paint or even draw this boy. It had been a couple of years since Sensei had discovered his… preferences… by finding the sketchbook Yusuke had been hiding under his mattress, one filled with sketches not suitable for general consumption. He had been treated to a particularly long lecture in which the words “reputation” and “discretion” were repeated many times. The end result had been that Sensei had all but forbidden him from using boys and men as the focal point of pieces unless required by school. He had been strongly encouraged to paint women instead. “No one’s ever starved from making art of beautiful women,” Sensei had said, smiling. Yusuke was sure that wasn’t true but refrained from arguing the point.

Hm. 

The girl walking alongside the object of Yusuke’s focus was a classic blonde beauty, exactly the sort of subject Sensei wanted from him. If he painted her, Sensei would definitely accept it, even if his heart weren’t exactly in it. Producing at least one painting that met Sensei’s approval would take off some of the pressure and probably result in the reinstatement of his allowance.

Even accepting that premise, was he desperate enough to ask a complete stranger to model for him?

The fact that his feet began propelling him forward without his input indicated that the answer was yes.

The group of teenagers got on the escalator. He could see the girl look his way and say something to the boys, but he continued following them anyway. 

Finally, after they all left the escalator, the girl whirled around and pointed at him. “Hey! You’ve been following me since we left the train!” Her friends flanked her protectively.

Yusuke stopped short. The blond boy, whom he had barely noticed before, was dressed a bit like a punk, but seemed like the sort of person who attempted to dress in an intimidating fashion to hide the fact that he was anything but. The dark haired boy was still completely unreadable, and Yusuke avoided looking at him for fear he’d completely lose his train of thought again.

“Uh, are you sure, Ann?” said the blonde.

“I’m definitely sure, I saw him staring at us before we got on the escalator. What is it you want?!”

“Excuse me,” he started, “It was not my intention to alarm you, but…” Ah, yes,  his old nemesis, his complete inability to hold a conversation with another human being. “Please, be the model for my next art piece!”

The girl recoiled in surprise. “What…? Model?!”

There hadn’t exactly been time for Yusuke to  _ plan _ how he was going to convince this stranger that her cooperation was absolutely essential to his continued well-being. Flatter her, perhaps…?

His conversational skills were certainly not being aided by the fact that the mysterious boy was looking right at him with that same unreadable expression. He somehow managed to be a distraction even while standing still and quiet. What could he be thinking?

Focus. Painting. Model. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your radiant beauty from across the train station.  It was at that moment that I knew that you would be the perfect model for my new painting. I feel a passion for painting you that I have never before known!” 

That was flattering, correct? It sounded flattering in his head.

Yusuke thought he heard a loud meowing coming from somewhere. The blond boy made a face. “Is this guy for real?”

He ignored them and stepped towards the girl. “What do you say? Will you cooperate with me?”

The blonde boy stepped between them. “Hold on a sec! Who the hell are you anyway?”

He stepped back. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Yusuke Kitagawa, a second year at Kosei High’s fine arts division. I am striving to become an artist. I’m under the tutelage of master artist Madarame, and he is allowing me to stay at his home. And you are?”

“Oh, uh -- I’m Ann Takamaki. This -- “ -- the blonde -- “-- is Ryuji Sakamoto, and this --” -- glasses -- “--is Ren Amamiya. But wait, Madarame? That’s that artist I saw the other day on Good Morning Japan.”

“You recognize that?” said Sakamoto.

“Yeah, they introduced him as a super famous Japanese artist. Some of the paintings were amazingly good.” Yusuke hadn’t seen the TV segment and couldn’t help but wonder if any of the paintings Takamaki was referring to were his own. “But didn’t we also hear that name in Mementos?”

Yusuke had no idea what that meant, but if she had heard of Madarame -- he pulled three tickets out of his school bag. “If you’re interested, I would be pleased to provide you with tickets to Madarame’s upcoming exhibition. I have some for your friends too, even though they may not be interested in the fine arts. I’ll be helping out on at least the first day; if you came by, I would be more than happy to show you around the exhibit, and we could talk further about the modeling.”

Those tickets were supposed to be for his teachers. Yusuke hoped that Sensei was too preoccupied with the exhibition to notice that they had never been properly distributed.

Takamaki took the tickets. “Uh, okay, thanks.” 

There was that loud meowing again. The blonde kicked the sidewalk restlessly. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

“Yeah, we’d better. Bye!” The three of them walked off. Amamiya, who hadn’t said a word this entire time, glanced backwards.

There was little chance that they would actually be attending the exhibition.

Yusuke pulled out his sketchbook and frantically drew Takamaki while the memory was fresh in his mind, oblivious to the fact that he was in the middle of the sidewalk blocking the foot traffic from the busy subway station. Surely, he could salvage this situation. He could probably paint something at least passable from this sketch alone.

...and then, with one mediocre painting under his belt, he would  _ only _ need to produce two masterpieces under intense pressure.

His long legs folded as he slowly and dramatically crumpled to the ground, barely noticing when a woman nearly tripped over him. There was no sugar-coating the situation -- he was completely undone. He may as well throw himself out of the atelier, quit school and become a fast food employee. It would save everyone involved a great deal of trouble and at least he’d likely get to eat once in a while.

He stood up and returned to his usual people watching spot in the station, but instead of drawing passers-by, he began drawing dark hair and glasses. He may as well enjoy himself a bit in the face of certain doom, and what Sensei didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

He would, of course, tear the sketches of Amamiya out of his sketchbook before returning home and throw them in the trash. Having a bit of fun was one thing, taking needless risks was quite another.


	3. Steadfastly ignoring increasingly pressing problems.

The first day of Sensei’s exhibition had arrived, and Yusuke was running on coffee and anxiety, the only two resources that Sensei never denied him.

He was numbly going through the motions, barely even registering his own paintings on display, adorned with Sensei’s name and a commentary that had nothing to do with the paintings’ actual meanings. Death of the author, he supposed. He certainly  _ felt _ rather dead.

The first time he had seen his work on display in a gallery — a quite prestigious gallery, not a student one — he had felt a thrill of pride and accomplishment. As the months and years passed, that had faded into a kind of dull bitterness. Today, he didn’t even wish to look at his own work. It served as little more than a reminder that past success did not guarantee future performance.

His painting of Takamaki, or rather, his painting of his hasty sketch of Takamaki, was not going well. Sensei hadn’t commented on it or restored his allowance. He was running low on instant ramen.

The list of things he was trying not to think about was becoming unwieldy.

_ That boy. _

For a moment Yusuke thought that sleep deprivation and hunger were causing him to hallucinate things he wanted, because the dark haired boy from the train station was  _ right there _ , somehow looking even more mysterious and attractive than he had the other day. The only way the hallucination could be more on point is if he were shirtless and holding a tray of the finest sushi.

But no, he was actually there, and his two friends were accompanying him. Miraculously, he had another shot at convincing the girl to model for him, which was even more crucial to his continued existence than shirtless sushi (if not as immediately gratifying).

“You came!”

“What’d you expect when you gave us those tickets?” said Sakamoto. Yusuke might be unfairly judging him by appearances, but he certainly didn’t seem to be the type to be interested in art. He supposed his friends had dragged him along.

He wondered if Amamiya had an interest in art. Not that that was remotely the same as having an interest in  _ him _ , but, well. It increased his chances of being able to hold a conversation with him, at any rate.

Remain focused.

“Have you given any more thought to modeling for my next piece?”

Takamaki played with her pigtails. “Well, I was thinking about it...?”

“May I show you around the exhibition?”

“Sure,” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic. “See you guys later.”

Takamaki nodded politely as Yusuke explained the meanings of various paintings, careful to keep to what was written on the placards that accompanied them and not what their actual painters had intended. He tried to muster up as much cheerful enthusiasm as possible in the hopes that she might actually agree to model for him and at least  _ one thing _ might go his way.

Suddenly, she stopped short and stared right at a painting he was trying to avoid. “Oh, that’s the one I saw on the television!” She walked over to it as Yusuke stood just behind her and kept his face as blank as possible. “When I saw this painting, I really liked it. It looks like it expresses the artist’s frustration? Kind of weird to think that such a successful man could make something so angry looking.”

Yusuke looked at his own painting with considerable dismay. “Ah, yes, Sensei has… many styles of painting. Come, there are better paintings than this one.” He turned away from the wall only to realize he was facing a painting made by a student who…

...that student was also a fixture on the list of things he was trying not to think about.

“Hey, are you okay?” Takamaki was facing him with what looked like genuine concern, which caught him off guard.

“Oh… yes, I am fine. I -- I’m afraid I’m running on little sleep today. There was much work to do to prepare the exhibition.”

He was putting considerable effort to conceal his inner turmoil, but for some reason he couldn’t fathom it didn’t seem to be working on her -- she was still looking at him with deep concern. Most people were more than eager to accept a generic excuse for the distress on Yusuke’s face, pleased to not have to involve themselves in an eccentric student’s troubles. Takamaki, on the other hand, seemed like she might be the sort who wants to solve  _ everyone’s _ problems.

Well, there was one problem she could certainly solve for him.

“I did want to speak to you more about modeling for my next painting…”

“Oh, right,” she said in a tone of voice that indicated she had clearly forgotten. “Can I have a little more time to think about it? Oh, I know, why don’t we exchange contact info?”

Yusuke was a bit surprised that she was willing to give him her information but wasn’t about to look a gift model in the mouth, and that analogy had completely gotten away from him. 

When they had finished fiddling with their phones, Takamaki began scanning the area. “Hey, I’d better go. I think my friends might’ve gotten pushed out of the exhibit by the crowds. Uh, thanks for giving me the guided tour...”

“My pleasure,” said Yusuke. “I hope to be in touch with you soon.”

“Yeah!” she said, with a smile that didn’t seem genuine, “bye now!”

She really didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about the modeling idea, so why did she come to the exhibition and agree to exchange information…?

He could worry about that later. Giving Takamaki a tour had already taken up enough time, not that he regretted it.

* * *

 

The next day, Yusuke set aside the painting of Takamaki that had been eluding him, in the possibly vain hope that she would actually contact him. Instead, he began painting something new, an idea that came to him the day before: the exhibition hall, but with each painting replaced by a yawning void into nothing.

It was not a subtle statement, but subtlety had never been his style. Sensei would order him to destroy it and paint something new. He regarded that possibility with total apathy. Perhaps then he could repaint the exhibition hall with some sarcastic flattery in place of the cry for help and destroy that one too, in turn.

The doorbell rang several times before it sufficiently jolted him out of his work to notice.

Sensei was home, but didn’t like being disturbed, so Yusuke put down his paintbrush and answered the door. The last thing he was expecting was Takamaki and her friends again.

“Oh, hello. Did you come about the modeling?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” said Takamaki, glancing downwards. “Actually, there was something we wanted to talk to you about, Kitagawa.”

“We saw some stuff online about your teacher,” Sakamoto said. “About how he’s abusin’ his students and stealin’ their art as his own. You know anything about that?”

Yusuke’s eyes went wide. For one wild moment he considered telling them everything. A suicidal prospect, since Sensei was just inside the atelier, quite possibly listening. A strained, insane laugh bubbled up within him as he constrained that urge.

“Baseless slander. No doubt these rumors were perpetrated by former students jealous of Sensei’s talent.”

Amamiya spoke for the first time. “Have there been any successful students?”

“Pardon me?”

His glasses reflected the light, making his eyes impossible to read. “By all accounts, your Sensei is an extremely talented artist, and he’s had a lot of students. Have any of them been successful?”

Amamiya’s question stung. Of course there hadn’t. They had all burned out and been discarded, or left themselves when they tired of the work and living conditions. Most had left the art world entirely, and Sensei made sure the art community blacklisted the few that tried to continue their careers.

“Most of his students were not prepared for the rigors of the art world. It’s normal to have a high attrition rate for a program such as this,” he said, trying to spin things diplomatically.

“That sounds pretty rough,” Takamaki said, playing with her hair. “Why do you stay, then?”

“Sensei took me in when my mother died, when I was very young. He recognized my artistic spark from an early age and raised me into the promising art student you see today,” he explained, trying to inject his words with the pride he used to feel at being the ward of Madarame. “It was Sensei’s masterpiece  _ Sayuri _ that originally inspired me to pursue true beauty, and continues to inspire me to this day. Allow me to show it to you.” 

He pulled up a picture of  _ Sayuri  _ on his phone. 

“It’s beautiful,” said Takamaki, with sincerity in her voice.

“I don’t know much about art but even I can tell that’s impressive,” added Sakamoto.

Amamiya pushed up his glasses and nodded. “It’s a great inspiration. I’d love to see something  _ you _ painted, Kitagawa.”

Apparently, Amamiya had a distinct talent for remarks that made you feel as though your blood had been exchanged for ice water. Yusuke’s mouth went dry. “Well, ah, all of my paintings of any merit have been submitted to the school for grading. I don’t have any myself.”

That was a half-truth, of course. All of his best paintings now bore Sensei’s name. The rest were his classwork, and even most of those had been reclaimed and sold by Sensei after their grading. He had little time to paint anything for his own gratification since Sensei decided he was accomplished enough to start  _ borrowing _ .

Amamiya raised a single eyebrow. “You don’t have any works of your own? Not even pictures of them?”

“O-Of course I do. Just one moment.” He scrolled through his pictures, past art references and paintings that no longer bore his name, looking for something safe to show off. Finally he spotted a middling landscape that he was fairly certain had gone into a private collection. 

The boy took his phone and looked at the picture. Yusuke held his breath. Normally he ignored the opinions of those who were not well versed in art criticism, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he really wanted the boy to appreciate his painting. A base desire, he supposed.

Amamiya’s expression didn’t change. “It’s a good painting,” he said, and his carefully neutral reaction pained Yusuke nearly as much as harsh criticism would have.

“I like it!” said Takamaki brightly, looking over the boy’s shoulder. “It has really good colors!”

“Listen, Kitagawa,” said Amamiya, eyes carefully hidden behind his excessively reflective glasses, “I know we don’t really know each other. But you seem like a decent guy, and this situation doesn’t seem healthy at all. If you need someone to help, or listen…”

Yusuke just stared at the group with wide eyes, expecting some catch or trick. Instead, they were all looking at him with expressions that were deadly serious and even  _ concerned _ . No one had taken an interest in his wellbeing since the last student left the atelier. What could possibly cause these near strangers to…?

“Yusuke!” came Sensei’s voice from inside the shack. Yusuke’s right shoulder tensed so hard it caused a stabbing pain in his neck and head. “When you’re finished talking to your friends, I need your assistance.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” said Yusuke quickly. “Takamaki, please let me know about the modeling, will you?” 

“Hey, Kitagawa, wait--!” Sakamoto exclaimed as the door shut on him.

Yusuke cleared his throat and braced himself like a ship’s crew tying themselves to a mast in a stormy sea. 

“What did you tell them?” Sensei was absolutely furious.

“Nothing, Sensei.”

“You’ve been increasingly _difficult_ lately, you haven’t completed even one of the paintings I asked you to, and now this? What have you been complaining about to those so-called friends of yours?”

“They aren’t my friends, Sensei, I’ve only met them briefly. They say they read a rumor about you online.”

“And who posted that rumor online, Yusuke?” he said, now standing so close that he could practically feel the heat of Sensei’s rage. 

“It must have been one of your former students, Sensei. You know that several of them bear ill will towards you.”

“Yes, perhaps it was, at that. And yet, you suddenly have  _ new friends _ ”-- he spat the words like a curse, ignoring Yusuke’s earlier protest -- “coming to my doorstep to talk to you about your living conditions, so you can understand why I feel as though you haven’t been honoring our agreements.”

“My apologies, Sensei, I assure you that I have not complained about my living conditions, either online or at school. I remain eternally grateful for what you have done for me.”

“Yes, and well you should. I took you in. I nurtured your talent, such as it is. You could have ended up in a foster home or on the street, certainly not receiving valuable and  _ expensive _ art education at one of the city’s most exclusive private schools. And all I ask of you is that you assist me in turn. Do I make myself clear?”

The familiar lecture washed over him like waves over the ship’s deck. “Of course, Sensei.”

“All I need is three paintings by the end of the exhibition, and yet you haven’t produced anything acceptable as of today. For someone with your passion and talent, a mere three paintings should be a trivial undertaking. I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.”

“My apologies, Sensei,  it’s because I haven’t been feeling well. I promise that the work will be completed on time.”

“See that it is, yes. It would certainly be a shame if I were forced to end my tutelage of you because you failed to devote yourself sufficiently to your craft.” 

“Yes, Sensei.” 

He likely did not mean that, Yusuke reassured himself later when trying to get to sleep.

In the morning, his painting of the exhibition hall had a note on it telling him to destroy it, so he quickly whitewashed the canvas before heading off to school.


	4. A child's first still life.

Yusuke’s phone buzzing nearly startled him out of his skin. It was quite rare for Sensei to text him, and he didn’t have any friends, so the vibrating phone was an unfamiliar intrusion on his train of thought.

TAKAMAKI: hey uh so i thought about the modeling thing some more

TAKAMAKI: are you free after school

Yusuke stared at the phone, blinking in disbelief.

KITAGAWA: Are you certain?

TAKAMAKI: haha sure why not :)

KITAGAWA: I am most certainly free after school. I promise you that you won’t be disappointed with the outcome.

TAKAMAKI: cool see ya then

Why on  _ earth _ was she agreeing to this…? He was pleased, but couldn’t help but think she had some motivation other than art. 

Maybe… she thought he was attractive? A conceited thought, to be sure, but he had attracted the attention of girls before, only for them to be disappointed by… well, by talking to him. On the other hand, Takamaki actually  _ had _ talked to him, and was  _ still _ talking to him for reasons he couldn’t possibly understand.

He was so deep in contemplation that he didn’t notice that he missed his stop, and ended up ten minutes late to school as he walked back.

* * *

 

Yusuke hadn’t really expected Sakamoto and Amamiya to show up along with Takamaki, but he wasn’t especially surprised, either. This was the fourth time he had met them, and so far they had never been apart. He briefly wondered if they habitually traveled in a small pack everywhere they went.

At any rate, Yusuke finally had what he wanted -- except, like every other time he thought he finally had what he wanted, it turned out he really didn’t. With Takamaki live modeling for him it should be simplicity itself to complete an acceptable portrait of her, and yet it was proving to be maddeningly difficult.

First of all, she was clearly not at all interested in the actual modeling, which made Yusuke wonder again why she even agreed to it. She was sitting slouched over with a bored, disdainful look on her face. Yusuke could work with that, and perhaps the uniqueness of her posture might even improve the painting, but it hadn’t been what he was expecting and he had to hastily recalibrate the image in his mind.

Secondly, Sakamoto was fidgeting nonstop, his leg bouncing up and down, fingers running through his hair or playing with his phone, and it was infuriating. A few times he said Yusuke’s name to try and get his attention, which the artist completely blocked out of his consciousness as best he could. He was trying to  _ focus _ , for god’s sake.

Finally, Amamiya was sitting still and watching the painting process attentively, and yet he somehow managed to be the most distracting of them all. He could practically feel the boy’s gaze on him from behind those glasses. His only substantial interaction with Amamiya so far had been the boy dropping devastating questions on him like bombs from an airplane, which only added to Yusuke’s discomfort.

After who knows how long of working -- Yusuke had an awful sense of time when he was heads down on a piece -- he accidentally fumbled his paintbrush and groaned his frustration.

“Geez, Kitagawa, how long is this going to take?” said Sakamoto irritably.

“I’m afraid I’m having some trouble focusing,” Yusuke responded, shooting him a pointed glance. “Unfortunately, this piece is not coming out how I expected.”

“Ugggh, you can’t be freakin’ serious. We’ve been here for like an hour already.”

Yusuke felt his temper flare. “If you don’t want to be here, you’re perfectly free to leave. I only ever asked for Takamaki’s cooperation.”

“We’re here so you don’t try any funny stuff with Ann.”

“Funny…?”

“And we needed to talk to you about the stuff from the other day.”

Thank goodness Sensei wasn’t going to be home that evening, because having Sakamoto in the atelier, bringing up those online rumors again, would have had  _ consequences _ . Even so, Yusuke would prefer to eat his paintbrush whole than have this conversation again.

“That again? You can’t be serious,” he said, glaring at Sakamoto. “I thought I adequately explained everything yesterday.”

Takamaki looked up from where she was sitting. “Kitagawa, the painting I asked about at the exhibition, the one that reminded me of frustration -- that was something you painted, wasn’t it?”

Yusuke couldn’t hide his surprise. “How -- how did you -- ?”

“I knew it!” said Takamaki. “You know that isn’t right, don’t you? He just totally stole that from you!”

“You lack understanding.” Yusuke crossed his arms against his chest. “Yes… we are our Sensei’s artwork, that much is true. However, it wasn’t stolen, but given. Sensei’s been in an art slump, so I sometimes assist him by providing him with my own work for his use. There is nothing wrong with a pupil helping a teacher.”

“Sometimes?” said Amamiya. “Are there actually any paintings of yours he hasn’t claimed?”

Ah, yes, he had been waiting for Amamiya to chime in with a difficult question. These three were becoming increasingly predictable, to the point where Yusuke was getting the odd sense that he had known them for far longer than he had.

“I told you, I offer my work to help my Sensei, to whom I owe my life. How often is quite frankly not your business. Furthermore, what I can’t understand is why you continue to insist on coming here and making baseless accusations.”

Takamaki and Sakamoto looked at each other. “We’re just tryin’ to help,” he said.

“You clearly don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” Yusuke shot back, irritated. “Help? How  _ precisely _ do you think you’re helping? Because as far as I can tell, all you have done was hear a rumor on the internet and come to confront me about it out of some misguided sense of justice.” The three friends looked at each other uneasily. “I’ll have you know that others have tried to accuse Sensei of exactly what you say. They have all ended up permanently blacklisted from the art world. As I wish to avoid such a fate myself, I refuse to entertain your accusations any longer.”

“So what, you’re just gonna let him get away with all that?!” Sakamoto was clenching his fists tight.

Yusuke was clenching his fists too. “What right do you have to come into my home and upend my life out of some sense of misguided justice?” 

Takamaki seemed somewhat stunned. “Kitagawa…”

“Thank you for your time modeling, Takamaki, but the painting isn’t working. You should go.”

“For real? But we need to talk to you about -- “

“You should  _ go _ ,” he said firmly. “Or I’ll call the police for trespassing.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Amamiya stood up. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“But Ren, the door…” said Sakamoto.

“I have an idea, don’t worry. Let’s go.” The three filed out of the room, Amamiya leading the way.

Well. That could have gone better. Yusuke uncurled his fists. His uneven nails had drawn blood in the palm of his hand.

The better part of him felt a twinge of guilt at driving out people who seemed to have good intentions and were trying to help.

However, the worst part of him felt that there was no way near strangers would put that much effort into trying to help someone like him without some kind of hidden motivation. Anger burned inside him as he considered it. What right did they have to try to pull him into whatever poorly thought out mission they had declared for themselves? What chance was there that a handful of high school students would be able to help expose Sensei’s abuses when none of his former students had been successful? What did they think they were playing at? Was it not far more likely that their so-called help would end with his expulsion from school and from the atelier, career in tatters before it even began?

A memory came to mind unbidden.

_ “Kitagawa-chan, I’m here to help you,” said the social worker, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her face was more weary than it was kind. “Please answer my questions honestly. I promise that you’ll be safe no matter what you answer, okay?” _

_ Yusuke, nine years old, nodded, but inwardly scoffed at her empty promise. _

_ “We have a report that says you’re forced to work long hours at your…” She checked her clipboard. “Art training.” _

_ “Yes, I’m training to be an artist, like Sensei,” he said with pride. _

_ “Yes, and that’s very good,” she said with a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging, “but what I need to know is how long you usually spend training.” _

_ Yusuke kept his face a careful mask and looked her in the eye, just as he had been told. “Oh, after school sometimes. I really like painting, wanna see?” He walked over to the wall where he had taped up some of his favorites. “This one’s abstract. It’s s’posed to be… the ocean, I think. This one’s called a still life. That’s when you paint something that’s not alive, like a bowl of fruit. I just learned it.” _

_ “Those are very nice, Kitagawa-chan.” Despite her words, the paintings seemed to trouble her, and he wondered if he had done something wrong. “And have you been treated well?” _

_ “Yes, I love living with Sensei.” _

_ “You’re getting enough to eat?” _

_ “Yes,” he lied, hoping his stomach wouldn’t betray him. _

_ “And when you’re in trouble, how are you punished?” _

_ “Sensei tells me what I did wrong, and sometimes he takes away my paints and I have to sit in my room.” He hoped he remembered what he was supposed to say correctly. _

_ “I see. And how about the other students who live here?” _

_ He wasn’t expecting that question and wasn’t sure how to answer it. He didn’t like it when Sensei yelled at the older students, but he knew that was one of the things he wasn’t supposed to talk about. _

_ “The other students are all really nice to me. Sensei’s teaching them about painting too. Sometimes they let me borrow their manga.” _

_ He wasn’t at all sure that that was what he should have said. _

He still wasn’t at all sure that that was what he should have said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the next chapter won't be depressing, promise)


	5. A relentless cacophony of sensory input.

The next morning, Yusuke took a moment to take stock of his situation and make sure he really, deeply appreciated exactly how much of a catastrophe had coalesced around him.

He had:

  * One unfinished and aggressively mediocre portrait of Takamaki
  * One whitewashed canvas, obscuring his earlier fit of nihilism
  * Two packages of instant ramen in his emergency supply
  * One former model who almost certainly, and understandably, hated him
  * Zero ideas



He should probably apologize to Takamaki and her friends, but she would likely think he was just doing it to try and convince her to model again, and she wouldn’t entirely be wrong.

Instead, Yusuke chose to sulk. If there was one thing he had earned through his incompetence and failure, it was the right to a good sulk. And so that was how he went through the rest of his day.

After school he began to fill the whitewashed canvas with an intricate pattern of dark lines. It wasn’t much, artistically, but it gave his hands something to do. He honestly felt too mentally exhausted for anything else.

Given all that, he was quite surprised when he awoke the next morning in something approaching a good mood. Well, honestly more of a vague daze accompanied by a nagging feeling that there was something he needed to do, but that was an improvement regardless. The strangest part was that he somehow felt more… himself than he had felt in perhaps a long time, in a way that was impossible to articulate.

What was it he needed to do… the paintings, correct? Yet that didn’t seem to be it. Something for school, perhaps? A chore he had neglected? The question ate at the edges of his mind all morning.

It wasn’t until several hours later that he found himself pulling out his phone and typing a message.

KITAGAWA: Takamaki, I understand if you don’t wish to hear from me again, but I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you and your friends.

KITAGAWA: You were doing me a great favor by agreeing to model, and I shouted at you all and accused you of ulterior motives.

KITAGAWA: I wish to apologize to Amamiya and Sakamoto as well, but I do not have their contact information. Please pass along my message if you see fit.

After a few minutes, three dots appeared on the screen and he waited for Takamaki to scold him or rightfully tell him to never contact her again.

TAKAMAKI: it’s ok kitagawa, you’re probably under a lot of stress right?

TAKAMAKI: we probably shouldn’t have pushed you that hard

TAKAMAKI: i understand, and ren and ryuji say they forgive you too :)

Yusuke stared at his phone, stunned. They forgave him? Just like that?

KITAGAWA: Truly? I don’t know what to say.

TAKAMAKI: haha are you always this serious :p

TAKAMAKI: tbh we were hoping you’d text

TAKAMAKI: we have to show you something important. 

TAKAMAKI: can we meet outside your place after school?

Was this a prank…? If so, it was awfully convoluted. Likely not.

KITAGAWA: Certainly, I will be there.

TAKAMAKI: awesome!!! see ya then

Yusuke didn’t want to presume but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was anything like having friends.

When he arrived back at the atelier, the three of them were waiting for him. Amamiya beckoned him over with a small flick of his hand, and -- oh yes, he had been so agitated the last few times they had met that he had somehow forgotten how attractive he was.

“You had something you wished to show me…?”

Sakamoto put a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, Kitagawa, we’re going to show you somethin’  _ awesome _ , but you have to promise not to freak out.”

Yusuke narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not going to tell me what it is beforehand, I’m not sure that’s a promise I can keep.”

“It’s hard to explain without seeing it,” said Takamaki. “The first time I saw it, I thought I was dreaming, or going crazy. But it’s real. You’ll see.”

Yusuke was becoming alarmed. He looked at Amamiya hoping for some better explanation, but received a casual shrug as the boy pulled out his phone. “What on earth are you all planning? Is this some sort of revenge for how I acted the other day? Because I truly am sorry.”

“It ain’t anything like that, really. Just -- seriously, don’t freak out.”

Amamiya mumbled something into his phone that Yusuke didn’t quite catch, and suddenly --

The world around him shifted and warped like an ancient filmstrip slipping and burning on the projector. That could be an interesting effect to try to capture on canvas and also  _ what the hell was going on. _

A second later, his vision shifted back into place. An enormous, blindingly golden building stood in the place of the modest atelier.

“Dude, are you freaking out? You’re supposed to not freak out.”

Yusuke whirled on Sakamoto, who was -- uh --

\-- wearing some kind of black jumpsuit and a  _ skull mask _ all of a sudden --

\-- his own clothes apparently had not changed, but Takamaki was wearing a shiny red catsuit and Amamiya was wearing --

\-- okay, he looked  _ amazing _ in that long black and red gloves, but why was he wearing it --

\-- dizzy, a really inconvenient time for a panic attack, but honestly wasn’t every time inconvenient for a panic attack --

“Kitagawa!” Amamiya’s voice brought him partially back to reality. At some point he had slumped to his knees on the floor, heart pounding through his chest, gut clenching painfully, limbs cold and ever so slightly shaking. “Kitagawa, listen to me. It’s okay. It’s a weird place, but you’re safe here, promise. Calm down.”

“Man, I thought this might be a bad idea.”

“Skull, hush,” said Takamaki. “I was flipping out the first time too. Give him a few minutes, wouldja?”

An unfamiliar voice. “Skull really shouldn’t talk. He was so scared before he got his Persona, I thought he was gonna pee his pants!”

Sakamoto groaned. “Can it, cat.”

“I am NOT a cat!”

“Guys, be quiet,” said Amamiya. “Kitagawa, are you going to pass out? How are you feeling?”

For a minute Yusuke thought his voice wasn’t going to work, but he managed to force the words from his dry throat. “I’m feeling as though you might have done a better job warning me about -- “ Here, he gestured dramatically to the blindingly golden building. “ -- and -- “ He gestured towards the ridiculous getups his companions were wearing.

Amamiya just shrugged. “What would we have said?”

“I don’t know, perhaps ‘brace yourself to suddenly be thrust into an alternate dimension, or a hallucination, or  _ whatever this is _ ?’”

“Would you have believed us?”

“That’s very much not the point.”

“Your guess of an alternate dimension is basically correct,” said the unfamiliar voice. Yusuke saw that it belonged to what appeared to be a child in a cat costume, or perhaps a small bipedal animal, a fact which would need to take its place in line behind the other dozen or so bizarre new facts he was attempting to process.

“It’s called the Metaverse,” Amamiya explained. “It’s basically the inside of people’s hearts. This is called a Palace. It’s what happens when someone’s heart becomes extremely distorted.”

“We’re inside of… a heart?”

“We’re inside of Madarame’s heart, Kitagawa. That’s why we needed to bring you here.”

“How is such a thing possible? Why is Sensei’s heart a massive golden building? Why are you wearing those outfits? How do you even  _ know _ about all of this? And what do you need me for?”

“I told you it would seem like a dream,” said Takamaki.

“You’re askin’ a whole lotta questions. Just c’mon and we’ll show you.”

Yusuke opened his mouth to protest, but the three of them began moving towards the building and he had no real option but to follow. 

The childlike cat creature turned around and addressed him. “We’re going to try to stay out of fights, but if a Shadow attacks us, just hide until it’s over, okay?”

“Fighting is a possibility? I thought Amamiya said we were safe?”

“We’re safe at the entrance, but not once we step inside, so be careful, okay? We cleared out most of the Shadows but definitely not all of them.”

Yusuke nodded numbly. Now that his initial burst of panic had subsided, he was in a state of mild shock, and had fallen back on his usual method of dealing with the world when he didn’t know what else to do: scanning the area for quality artistic subjects. The building’s architecture was quite interesting, and it might serve for some inspiration if its colors weren’t so hideously gaudy and clashing. The throng of faceless, milling people outside waiting -- waiting for what? -- made for quite a striking visual. And the way Amamiya ran nimbly --

They detoured to the gardens on the side of the building, passing through what appeared to be a maintenance entrance, and Yusuke’s breath caught short.

It was a museum. An ostentatious, tasteless museum. Every painting was a portrait in the same bland and unappealing style. And worse…

“I recognize these people,” said Yusuke, stepping forward to look at a painting more closely. “These are all Sensei’s students.”

“We thought that might be the case,” said Amamiya from behind him. “This is Madarame’s heart, so this is what he thinks of them. Not people, but works of art in his museum.”

“This cannot be,” he said softly, but at the same time, it only confirmed things that he had long understood deep down. “Am I here as well? As… a work of art?”

“Yeah,” said Sakamoto, kicking the ground.

“I’d like to see it.”

Takamaki raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I’d like to see it,” he said again, more firmly.

“It’s up ahead,” said Amamiya, leading the group through the gallery. Yusuke recognized every face, some dimly from his childhood, others so fresh he couldn’t stand to look at them. There were many repeats, but none of him; at least, until they stopped short in front of an enormous painting on a wall by itself.

Yusuke regarded the painting of himself calmly. “This portrait has considerably better technique than the rest of them. He must have put more effort into it.”

Sakamoto stared at him. “Are you for real? He still sees you as an object, man.”

“I understand what it means, Sakamoto,” said Yusuke sharply. 

An all-too-familiar voice boomed overhead. “Yusuke! Where are my paintings?” Yusuke yelped and nearly jumped backwards into Amamiya.

The cat said, “He knows we’re here. We’d better move.”

“Sensei knows we’re here?!” Out of all the things Yusuke had ever been in trouble for, traipsing around inside Sensei’s heart would certainly be a novel offense.

“Not the real Madarame. The Shadow Madarame who lives in this Palace. It’ll be dangerous if we get caught.”

“Why aren’t you working on my paintings, Yusuke?” 

Yusuke tried not to cringe. “Is he going to continue to do that?”

Takamaki looked sympathetic. “That’s what it’s like for you, isn’t it?”

Sakamoto and the cat had already run on ahead. “C’mon, we gotta keep movin’!”

Yusuke had no real choice but to follow once again. They rushed past an enormous golden statue that appeared to be made of children -- he really didn’t want to know what that was about -- past more portraits and past art pieces guarded by grids of lasers. Yusuke accidentally brushed against one of the lasers, setting off a loud alarm and prompting Sensei’s voice to shout, “Yusuke! Get to work!”

“Be careful of the lasers, Kitagawa.”

“I didn’t intend to do that!”

“Don’t worry about it, we’re nearly there.”

“Where is  _ there? _ ”

Out of nowhere, a pitch black silhouette of what appeared to be a masked security guard ran up behind Sakamoto, swinging his baton. Sakamoto dodged with surprising panache as Amamiya backflipped onto the security guard, ripping off its mask. It exploded into a group of what appeared to be snowmen. Takamaki yelled “Dance, Carmen!” and summoned an enormous dancer that shot fire at the snowmen, dissolving them into nothing.

“Nice work, Panther,” said Amamiya, giving her a high five. “You took care of them before they could even scratch Kitagawa.”

Takamaki beamed. “Leave it to me, Jack Frosts are my speciality!”

“We’d better keep moving before we attract more attention.” Amamiya beckoned the group forward into another room before Yusuke could ask any questions about the baffling string of events that had just unfolded.

Finally, they arrived at what he supposed was their destination, a large gate painted with peacock plumage. “This looks just like the door to Sensei’s storage room.”

Sakamoto punched the air. “Hell yeah, I knew bringing him here was a great idea!”

“Seriously, Skull?” The cat was cringing. “You were complaining about it the whole way here.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure he could help us.” He turned to Yusuke. “See, this gate matches a door in the real world, right? If you can open it there, we can get past it here.”

“And what’s past the gate?”

“Madarame’s treasure!” said the creature, eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s the thing that made his desires become distorted in the first place. If we can steal it, it’ll change his heart. He’ll repent his crimes and confess!”

“Change his heart? Repent?”

“Didja hear what happened with that bastard Kamoshida at Shujin?” Yusuke shook his head. Sakamoto looked slightly deflated but continued. “He was abusing a ton of students and suddenly confessed his crimes at a school assembly?”

“Oh!” he said, eyes widening. “I saw that in the news. He mysteriously confessed out of nowhere. The police couldn’t explain it, and a group called the Phantom Thieves were taking the credit...” He looked around him with new understanding. “You are…? And this is how…?”

“That’s right!” said Sakamoto, beaming with pride.

“We’re going to change Madarame’s heart! He’ll fess up to everything -- plagiarizing, exploiting students, all of it!” Takamaki was practically bouncing with excitement.

“But why?”

“We want to get revenge on shitty adults who ruin people’s lives.”

“We want to make a name for ourselves as Phantom Thieves so we can help more people!”

“It’d help you too,” added Amamiya. “All we need you to do is get that door open in the real world, and let your Sensei see it open. Then it’ll open here and we can steal his treasure.”

Yusuke looked at three faces shining with expectation -- and Amamiya, who was as unreadable as always.

“No.”

“What?! Why not?”

“Your goals are quite noble, and I admire your convictions, but I can’t assist you with this. As our works were given to him to use as his own, not stolen, I am not sure that anything he has done even counts as plagiarism. Furthermore, while I’m willing to agree that some students could have been treated better, there is no law against demanding your students work hard, or removing them from your tutelage if they don’t meet your standards.” He looked at the floor. “Most importantly, I owe Sensei my life, and I cannot betray him.”

Sakamoto looked both dumbfounded and furious. “You’re gonna just let him go? Just like that? Don’t you want revenge?”

Yusuke shrugged. “Revenge for what? Taking me in?”

Takamaki was also stunned. “But what about all the other students he exploited?”

“Stealing Sensei’s heart isn’t going to undo the past, or bring anyone back.”

“And what about you?” Amamiya’s eyes were surprisingly stern behind his glasses. “You’re obviously running yourself into the ground.”

“Obviously…?”

Takamaki twirled her hair with her finger. “Yes, obviously. Let me put it this way: the topic of our group chat is currently set to ‘How is Kitagawa still alive?’”

“I… I assure you, I am quite alive.” Yusuke couldn’t fully process the idea that his new acquaintances were actually discussing his well-being in a group chat.

Amamiya’s gaze was bearing into him. “You’re trying to keep up with both your school and an adult career, with basically zero support. Worse than zero support, since you’re also being denied food and money. Is that not the case?”

“I -- how do you know all this?”

“So it’s true.”

Yusuke straightened his posture. “That’s not… a completely inaccurate assessment, but I can handle it. Truly.”

Amamiya stepped closer. “You sure about that?”

Yusuke’s heart ached with the desire to confess his troubles. Shamefully, he had sometimes allowed himself to fantasize about someone who would listen. Someone he could talk to about the constant feeling of being slowly crushed between massive clockwork gears, about his lack of sleep and food turning his days into unfocused gray nothingness, about how even the pleasure he took in painting was slowly slipping from his grasp. Yet doing so would go against everything he had been taught -- to quietly endure discomfort and avoid becoming an unnecessary burden on others.

“Why does it even matter to you?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Yusuke!” Before the minor standoff between Yusuke and Amamiya could go any further, they were interrupted by what certainly appeared to be Sensei. He was wearing a flashy gold kimono and his hair and makeup were done like a shogun or a kabuki actor. He was flanked by several of the security guard Shadows Yusuke had seen before.

Yusuke had many pressing questions to ask his Sensei, and yet the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth was:

“Sensei, what on earth are you  _ wearing? _ ”

“Were you expecting rags? Surely you’ve realized by now that the humble clothes and modest shack are all an act. I have a second home and a fat bank account under another name.”

“What?!” Yusuke thought of all the days he spent hungry and freezing cold because the shack had no food or heat. “Why?”

“Branding, of course. The press eats up that ‘humble artist’ angle. Branding is  _ everything _ in the art world. You should know that yourself -- a middle schooler’s crude attempt at a landscape isn’t something anyone would look at twice, but put  _ my _ name on it and now it hangs in a prestigious gallery. There’s even a little placard explaining how the lack of refined technique is something I did on purpose to bring out the emotion of the piece. Ha!”

Yusuke knew exactly which painting he was talking about, how excited and proud he had been when Sensei sold it, one of the first. “I -- I thought -- “

“Now, don’t look so upset. You just have a lot still to learn about the art world, and I’m going to be there to teach you, of course. All you have to do is give up this foolish nonsense, go back to the atelier and complete the paintings I’ve asked you for.”

“Bullshit!” yelled Sakamoto from behind him. “You just wanna exploit him ‘cause you can’t paint worth a damn yourself!”

Shadow Sensei’s mouth twisted into a sneer before reverting back into his usual cloying smile. “Yusuke, this is exactly why I told you you shouldn’t bother with trivialities like high school friends. They know nothing about art or what’s best for you, and they certainly don’t like you. They see you as a pity project. They just said so themselves.”

“Hey, that’s not true! We’re trying to help!” called Takamaki.

“You don’t have time to waste with people like that. You have a marvelous career ahead of you and I’m going to help you with it.”

“Yeah, like all the other students you taught? The homeless one, maybe?” There was surprising venom in Amamiya’s voice.

“I understand why you’re upset, Yusuke. The art world can be cruel and sometimes we have to do unpleasant things to get ahead. That’s why you’re so fortunate to have my guidance, and all you need to do in return is help me from time to time. If you return to the atelier, forget all this, and finish your work, all will be well between us. I’ll even raise your allowance and treat you to sushi. How’s that?”

Yusuke stared at Sensei’s outstretched hand, trying to get a handle on his conflicting emotions. He could dimly hear voices behind him calling to him, but couldn’t process what they were saying. Finally —

“What happens if I don’t?” he said quietly.

“What was that?”

“What happens if I don’t? If I can’t complete those paintings by that deadline?”

“You will, I’m sure you can —“

_ “What. Happens. If I don’t.” _

Sensei’s hand and smile dropped. “Well. In that case, I think I’ll have Kosei revoke your scholarship. You don’t really need any further education, and it’s taking valuable time away from assisting me. I’ll have them tell you it’s because the quality of your work dropped. You’ve been getting a bit too much of an ego lately and that’ll be good for knocking you down a few pegs.”

“You -- you couldn’t possibly mean -- “

“Of course I could. Your artistic talent from a young age is what gave me the idea in the first place -- the idea to take in promising young artists and take their potential for myself. Even so, none of them could match you either in talent or in obedience. That is why you’ll be working for me for the rest of your life. You should feel honored to sacrifice yourself to maintain my illustrious career.”

Stunned silence hung in the air for several moments until Sakamoto broke it. “Holy  _ shit _ . That’s fuckin’ cold.”

A wild, involuntary laugh bubbled up from Yusuke’s chest. “Indeed. You’re absolutely correct, Sakamoto.”

“Uh, I think he’s cracked,” said the childlike voice behind him.

“What, just because he said I’m right?!”

Amamiya was next to him. “Kitagawa, are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine. More than fine. I’ve finally realized that my Sensei truly is a lying, abusive  _ fraud! _ ”

Sensei’s smile and hand both dropped. “Hmph. So you choose to repay my generosity with insolence.”

“How many lives did you destroy? How many dreams did you exchange for riches? And I stood by and allowed it to happen -- no, I even  _ helped _ you. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for that transgression -- and neither do  _ you _ !”

Yusuke took a step towards Madarame, who beckoned his guards forward. “This is my museum, and the price for your insolence will be death! Guards!”

As the guards advanced on the group, Yusuke blinked and was suddenly surrounded by his new companions. “They’re going to attack. Stay back and let us handle it,” said Amamiya.

Yusuke shook his head. “No more standing aside, I want to help, I--“

_ pain _

It felt as though a spear made of blinding light and wailing sirens was being jackhammered into his skull. It was so sudden and intense that 99% percent of his thought processes had come to a screeching halt and the remaining 1% consisted of,  _ oh, so this is how I die, how fascinating. _

**Have you finally come to your senses?**

The booming voice was somehow coming from inside his skull. He sank to his knees as the pain somehow, impossibly increased.

**You claimed to be in pursuit of pure truth and beauty, yet you closed your eyes to both.**

His hand scraped across the floor as he writhed in agony and the tiny portion of his brain that was still working was thankful it was not his painting hand. Assuming he survived to paint again.

**If you wish to cast aside that part of yourself, form a contract with me.**

_ Yes. _

**I am thou, thou art I.**

_ Come. Goemon. _

He wasn’t entirely sure where the words had come from, but as soon as he spoke them in his head -- or perhaps out loud as well -- the pain dissipated and he rose to his feet.

He was surrounded by swirling blue light, and before him stood an enormous, psychedelic manifestation of the legendary gentleman thief Goemon. All of this, on top of all he had already experienced that day, should seem like sheer lunacy, and somehow it all seemed perfectly  _ right _ . It felt like conviction. It felt like power. And, most intoxicatingly of all, he was experiencing the extremely rare and precious feeling of actually having some measure of control over his own life.

“I see everything so clearly now,” he said with wonder. “How could I have called myself an artist and yet been so blind? No longer! I will bring you to justice!” He and Goemon gestured forward, and a chilling blast of ice knocked his Sensei and the security guards several feet backwards.

“Whoa, impressive!” called the creature.

Amamiya put a hand on his shoulder. “You got this?” For the first time, he wasn’t looking at Yusuke blankly, or with concern, but grinning  _ proudly _ .

Yusuke’s heart swelled with joy. “I am  _ ready!” _

“Guards! Kill them! Kill them all!” Sensei was stumbling backwards in fear, and before they could pursue him, several more security guards materialized and blocked their way. They burst into other shapes -- most of them strange bird-men, but one appeared to be an oversized blacksmith of a sort.

Before Yusuke could open his mouth to ask what he should do, he found that he somehow had precise knowledge of exactly what his new companion Goemon was capable of. That made a certain kind of sense since Goemon was born of him -- and as soon as he thought it, he could feel Goemon indicating that his assessment was correct. An unusual sensation, but not an unwelcome one. At any rate, he seemed to have three options available to him: an ice spell, a sword attack (and, oh, he had a  _ katana _ , when did that get there?), and a kind of magic spell to increase agility. Experimentally, he cast the ice spell at one of the bird-men, knocking it down with a deeply satisfying sound.

The cat jumped up and down in excitement. “Yes, it’s weak to ice! Nice work, hit the rest of them!” Yusuke nodded and cast ice on each of the bird men in turn, each tumbling to the floor, and then finally casting ice on the blacksmith, which remained standing. Nearby, Takamaki hit the blacksmith with fire, which also didn’t seem to faze it. Finally, Sakamoto used what appeared to be electricity, and the blacksmith finally fell to the ground.

In a split second, the team had surrounded the enemies, pointing guns at them. Yusuke didn’t seem to have a gun, so he settled for crossing his arms across his chest and trying to look menacing. “Wait, can’t we talk it over?!” called out one of the bird men. Amamiya, a devilish smile on his face, shook his head, and the team rushed forward and pounced on the enemies. Yusuke could feel Goemon tugging on his mind, pulling him forward, and before he knew it he had drawn his katana and rushed in as well. Collectively, they made quick work of the enemies, who dissipated into dark mist.

It was pure catharsis. It was a breathtaking rush of adrenaline. It was --

\-- it was his knees suddenly ceasing to work and collapsing out from underneath him.

Amamiya and Takamaki knelt down next to him. “Hey, are you all right?” they said, nearly in unison.

“I can’t move my legs,” he said, marveling at how quickly he went from wielding a sword like a legendary samurai warrior to lying uselessly on the floor. Truly, today had been a land of contrasts.

Amamiya chuckled. “Awakening your Persona takes a lot out of you. You’ll be fine.”

“Awakening a Persona…?” He could still feel the presence of Goemon in his mind. “Did you at any point intend to explain all of this to me?”

“To be honest, we just needed you to open the door. We weren’t expectin’ ya to get a Persona too,” said Sakamoto. “But that’s totally awesome, man! Your Persona is super cool.”

“Here, let me help you stand up,” Amamiya held out a hand. “There’s some chairs over there where we can take it easy for a few minutes.”

With Amamiya’s support, Yusuke was able to stand and walk over to the chairs. He was beginning to recover somewhat from his collapse, but his limbs still felt as though they were made of gelatin.

Takamaki sat down next to him, followed by Amamiya on the other side. “That couldn’t have been easy, standing up to your teacher like that,” she said.

Yusuke shook his head ruefully. “I should have done it years ago. All this time, I said and did nothing as Sensei destroyed the prospects of over a dozen fellow students. I only rose up against him when my own livelihood was threatened. You all must think I am incredibly selfish.”

“Dude, you are way too hard on yourself,” said Sakamoto, leaning on a nearby wall. “Weren’t you a kid for most of that? And now he’s got you workin’ all hours as his own personal art slave. It’s hard to think of other people when you’re just barely survivin’, right?”

“I suppose…” He looked around at smiling faces. “The Phantom Thieves… You say you can change his heart?”

“That’s right!” The short black creature hopped onto a nearby chair. “When we take his treasure, he’ll confess everything.”

“He said he’ll get you kicked out of school if you can’t finish those paintings before his exhibition ends, right?” Yusuke nodded at Amamiya. “That gives us a deadline to change his heart, then.”

“This fighting seems dangerous. I can’t ask you to risk your lives for my sake.”

The cat shook its head. “We decided unanimously that Madarame was our next target before we even met you. We’re doing this.”

“Although…” Amamiya looked thoughtful. “If you’re one of us now, you get a vote too, right? Do you want to steal Madarame’s heart?”

“I’m one of you?”

“Do you want to be?”

“We should decide that the same way we decide targets. A unanimous vote!” said Takamaki. “All in favor of Kitagawa say ‘aye’!”

“Aye!” said everyone but Yusuke.

They all looked at him. “Only if you want to,” said Amamiya.

If Yusuke hadn’t just awoken the spiritual manifestation of his soul, the experience of three people and one sentient creature enthusiastically voting him into their group would have been by far the strangest and most marvelous event of his day.

“I —I just — Aye!”

“Then it’s settled!” said Sakamoto, punching the air. “Welcome to the team!”

“Not to break up the celebration, but we’d better leave,” said the creature, gesturing at a Shadow skulking just outside the door to the room. “We’ve been here long enough, and we don’t want to risk getting ambushed by Shadows.”

“Can you stand, Kitagawa?”

“Yes, I think-- “ Yusuke put his hands on his knees to stand up, and-- “When did my clothes change?”

Takamaki laughed. “You just  _ now _ noticed that?”

* * *

 

It didn’t take them long to make their way back out of the Palace, following Amamiya. Sakamoto explained that he was the leader of their group, and, watching the practiced way he hid in corners and avoided enemies, Yusuke could certainly understand why. Finally, they were back out on the street in front of the atelier, emerging into a cool and pleasant spring evening. Yusuke had never felt either more exhausted or more satisfied in his life.

“Good thing we’re already at your place, otherwise I’d be worried about you getting home,” said Amamiya. “We’d better exchange contact info since you only have Ann’s. Ryuji, too.”

As they exchanged information, Yusuke noticed that their strange, non-human companion was gone. “What happened to -- ?” Yusuke made a gesture indicating the creature’s height, hoping they’d understand.

“Oh, Morgana? He’s right here.”

A black cat popped out of Amamiya’s schoolbag. “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t introduce myself properly! Sorry about that. I’m Morgana, and it’s nice to meet you.”

Yusuke stared. “The cat talked.”

“I am not a cat! You were talking to me earlier without any problem.”

Yusuke nodded with understanding. “Ah yes, I see now.”

“You do? I mean, of course you do.”

The cat’s fur was deep black and exceptionally glossy. He’d be an interesting subject to paint, perhaps. What style would best bring out the reflection of light on a shiny black surface…?

“...gawa, hellooooo, you with us?” Takamaki waved a hand in front of his face. “I was saying that we’d better call it a night. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” They said their goodbyes as Yusuke walked back into the atelier.

Physically, he was absolutely exhausted, but mentally, his brain was stuffed with so much new input that he felt he couldn’t possibly go to sleep until he had unpacked some of it out of his mind and onto his canvas. He took up his brush and began filling the canvas he had recently whitewashed with a delicate blue and gray pattern. It resembled the ice crystals that he could now, apparently, produce from thin air. He could feel Goemon in the back of his mind, approving of the subject.

He painted until he was too weary to hold a brush anymore, practically flung himself onto his futon, and sank immediately into a dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akihiko-i've-been-waiting-for-this.jpg


	6. Painting the crumbling walls.

He woke the next morning feeling refreshed, and that was how he immediately knew the events of the previous day had not been a dream.

He felt as if he should be more frightened by the knowledge that Sensei would pull him out of school if he ever failed to comply with his demands — and yet, oddly enough, he felt little other than relief. He now knew exactly where he stood and had a plan to go forward. If he failed, at least he would go down fighting.

He had a text alert on his phone inviting him to Phantom Thieves Group Chat, which he accepted.

YUSUKE KITAGAWA has joined PHANTOM THIEVES GROUP CHAT

CURRENT TOPIC: hi kitagawa!!!

YUSUKE: Hello?

ANN: good morning!

REN: I see you made it to the group chat in one piece

YUSUKE: Good morning Takamaki, Amamiya.

REN: We’re a team now, you can call us by our first names if you want

YUSUKE: Oh, certainly. The same goes for you.

TOPIC changed by ANN: hi yusuke!!!

YUSUKE: How do you change the topic like that?

REN: It’s in the side menu

YUSUKE: I don’t seem to have a side menu.

REN: The little gear

YUSUKE: Is that intended to be a gear?

YUSUKE: The layout and color scheme of this texting application leave much to be desired.

REN: You’re not wrong

YUSUKE: Oh, but there’s a menu option to attach pictures. How delightful.

YUSUKE: So is this where we coordinate our actions as Phantom Thieves when we are not in the same physical location?

ANN: kinda?

REN: You are absolutely correct

REN: If by “coordinate our actions as Phantom Thieves” you mean bitch about class and argue over where we’re going to eat

YUSUKE: I think I might quite enjoy arguing over where to eat.

REN: Who doesn’t, really

RYUJI: geez you guys are blowing up my phone super early, how are you even awake

RYUJI: oh hey, new guy

YUSUKE: Good morning.

ANN: we’re awake because we all need to get to school, lazy butt :p

RYUJI: hey, do i really have to go to school today

RYUJI: can you tell them i died

ANN: nope, you gotta suffer with the rest of us

REN: Principal Kobayakawa, I regret to inform you that Ryuji Sakamoto has passed away in a tragic not-giving-a-fuck accident

RYUJI: ren gets it

REN: You still have to come to Mementos after school though

RYUJI: oh are we doing that?

YUSUKE: Mementos?

REN: It’s a different part of the Metaverse, you’ll see

RYUJI: we got a target?

REN: Yeah, Mishima told me about this bully on the Phan-Site

RYUJI: sweet

REN: I also thought it would be good for showing Yusuke the ropes

YUSUKE: I look forward to it.

REN: Shibuya Station after school then?

ANN: sure!

RYUJI: you got it

YUSUKE: Certainly.

As Yusuke put his phone away, he could feel eyes on him. He looked up to see Sensei standing in the doorway. For a brief moment he saw a kind of double image of Sensei and his Shadow -- the humble rags and serene expression overlaid with ostentatious golden robes and a cruel smile. He could feel Goemon radiating disapproval from the depths of his mind.

“You’re spending an awfully long time on your phone this morning, Yusuke. See to it that you aren’t late to school.”

Yusuke kept his expression carefully composed. “Of course, Sensei.”

Sensei caught sight of Yusuke’s half-finished painting of ice crystals, and walked over to examine it more closely. “Hmm… this is an improvement over some of your recent works. I’ll be interested to see it completed.”

When Sensei said something along those lines, it meant that he found Yusuke’s painting acceptable to present under his name. Yusuke involuntarily felt the wave of relief that always accompanied having satisfied one of Sensei’s demands.

If he was able to complete the paintings on time, would it truly be necessary to steal Sensei’s heart…?

He could feel Goemon’s sharp rebuke. Indeed, that course of action would only delay the inevitable, unless he desired to remain his Sensei’s unwilling puppet for the rest of his days.

Sensei left the room, and Yusuke packed up his things and departed for school, his steps considerably lighter than they had been for some time.

* * *

 

Yusuke’s school day passed in a blur, as he constantly found himself lost in daydreams about everything that had transpired. Before he knew it, he was on the train to Shibuya.

Stepping off the train, it wasn’t long before he spotted the team leaning against the wall.

“Good, you made it,” said Ren. “Like I said in chat, we’re gonna go into Mementos to train today.”

“What exactly is Mementos?”

Morgana’s head popped out of Ren’s schoolbag. “It’s a Palace like Madarame’s, but it’s not owned by just one person. There are a lot of people with distorted desires who aren’t so far gone to have an entire Palace. All of those miniature Palaces are smashed together into one big maze. That’s what Mementos is -- the collective unconsciousness.”

“I see…” 

“What’s the target today?” Ryuji was stuffing his mouth with potato chips, and Yusuke could feel his stomach rumbling.

“Mishima showed me this post on the Phan Site. Daisuke Takanashi, a student at our school who’s been bullying other students and stealing their money.” Ren leaned over and showed Yusuke the forum he had brought up on his phone. “This is a forum run by a guy we know. People post their requests for the Phantom Thieves, and if they have a name, we can find them in Mementos and change their hearts.”

“So we’re going to enter Mementos and change the heart of a school bully?”

“That’s right. Any objections?” Everyone shook their heads. “All right, let’s go.” He pulled out his phone and spoke the word Mementos. Once more the world began to blur and stretch, but this time Yusuke was at least prepared for it.

When the world clicked back into place -- a mildly sickening sensation that he hoped he would eventually become accustomed to -- they were still in the station, but the entire platform had become mired in decay and bathed in harsh red light. Behind the nearby turnstiles, the escalators led downwards into an inky black void. Organic-looking vines or tentacles reached up from the blackness, twisting around the ceiling in dark masses. The melancholy ruin of it all was breathtaking, and Yusuke instinctively brought his fingers up to frame the scene. He absolutely must paint this later.

“Hey, hey!” Morgana was jumping up and down near him. “We need to get our newbie a code name!”

“Code name…?”

“We’re trying to avoid using our real names in Palaces, just in case hearing our names over and over again has an effect on cognition.”

“I feel as though you used my name a great deal while we were inside of Sensei’s Palace. Is that going to cause a problem?”

“Probably not in that case, since he already knows who you are, so it wouldn’t be strange to him to think of your name.”

“Hmm,” said Ann. “It should be something artsy. Like… Brush, or Palette.” Yusuke made a face. “Okay, maybe not those. What do you think?”

“Da Vinci,” he said. Taking on the pseudonym of one of his favorite visionaries would surely inspire him to greater heights as --

“Nope.” said Ryuji.

Ren was wearing a mischievous smile. “He’s wearing a tail, so why not Furry?”

Ryuji nearly choked laughing. “Perfect!”

“No, no, no, we’re not doing that,” said Ann, giggling.

Yusuke wasn’t sure what was so humorous, but didn’t care to be called Furry, at any rate.

“All right, all right. You guys are named after your masks, so why not just call him Fox?”

Yusuke suddenly realized that he had not yet seen his own mask. He pulled it off and looked at it. It was indeed foxlike, its surface a glossy white with blood red accents at the ears and forehead. It wasn’t what he would have expected his inner self to manifest, but couldn’t help but feel a twinge of vanity to know that the mask that represented him was so elegant and aesthetically pleasing. “Fox is acceptable.”

“Fox it is, then!” cheered Morgana. “As for the rest of us, he’s Joker, he’s Skull, she’s Panther, and I’m Mona!”

“Mona, as in the Mona Lisa?”

“I’m not a girl.”

“While true, the Mona Lisa is renowned for its mysteriousness, a quality which transcends gender.”

“When you put it that way, I guess it’s okay. Mysterious, huh? Mrahahaha.” Mona’s laugh was somewhere in between a cackle and a meow.

“So, Fox, I got something for you. You use a katana, right?” Joker was holding out a long katana in a glossy black sheath.

Fox briefly wondered where he had been keeping it, since he didn’t seem to be carrying his schoolbag any more. He took the sword, and realized that despite its impressive appearance, it was made of cheap materials. Pulling the sword from its sheath, he could clearly see that the blade was uneven and dull. It wasn’t a true weapon intended for battle, but a prop more suited for a theatrical performance.

“Joker, you, ah, realize that this isn’t a real katana…?”

Joker nodded. “That’s right. It’s a cognitive world, so fake weapons work just as well as real ones. They just have to look close enough to real for the Shadows we’re fighting. Speaking of which…” Joker produced -- was that an  _ assault rifle _ ?

“Oh man, that is so cool,” said Skull. “I want an assault rifle too!”

“The shotgun totally matches your personality, though,” Panther grinned and nudged him in the side.

“Are you sayin’ I’m loud?” said Skull, loudly.

Fox was regarding the gun with trepidation. “I’m sorry, Joker, but I don’t believe I’m qualified to handle this kind of weaponry.”

“It’s also a fake, see?” Joker pushed the gun into his hands, and Fox could tell by its weight and texture that it was indeed made of flimsy plastic. “Nothing to worry about. All you have to do is hold it like you mean it, and it’ll work on the Shadows.”

“So… this cognitive world is a place where models of objects can be used in the place of the real item, as long as the parties involved believe it to be real? I wonder what other objects that logic applies to…”

“So anyway,” Joker cut his rumination short, “the sword and gun will be your physical attacks. For magic, you have ice, right? That’s perfect. Panther has fire, Skull has electricity, and Morgana has wind, so it’ll be easy to fit you into the team.”

“What sort of magic do you wield, Joker?”

“It’s complicated. Basically, anything. Unlike you guys, I have multiple Personas.”

“Truly? That is fascinating. What does it feel like to have multiple Personas residing within you?”

Joker shrugged. “Like… not much, honestly.”

“He can recruit new Personas out of Shadows, too,” said Skull.

“Personas are expressions of the innermost self, are they not? Joker, you must be a deeply empathetic and multi-faceted person in order to successfully wield so many Personas.”

Joker raised one eyebrow, then returned it to its usual neutral state as he shrugged. “Heh, if you say so. You say multi-faceted, I say confused as hell. It’s useful in battle, though.  _ Anyway _ , it’s important to have a good spread of different types of magic, because each Shadow has a different weakness. Your main job will be taking down anything that’s weak to ice, okay?”

“Yes, I believe I can handle that.”

“So basically, if there’s a Shadow that’s weak to ice, cast Bufu at it. If we don’t know a Shadow’s weakness yet, you should also cast Bufu at it, so we can see if it’s weak to ice. Otherwise your sword is your best bet. If you have buffs, save them for the most dangerous enemies. Oh, and shoot anything with wings. You got all that?”

Fox nodded, half listening, half admiring how easily Joker slipped into a commanding voice and posture. He willed himself to snap out of it; he needed to improve his ability to keep his focus around Joker if they were going to work together on a team.

“You’re probably weak to fire, right?”

Goemon indicated the correctness of that statement, but Fox wasn’t sure what “weak to fire” even entailed. Weren’t all human beings effectively weak to fire? “Yes, I believe so, but what exactly does that mean?”

“It means if a Shadow hits you with fire you’re gonna get knocked on your ass,” said Skull.

“Hits me with fire…? Is that likely to happen?”

“Yes,” said Mona. “Shadows are going to use all kinds of attacks. Fire is a pretty common one.”

“Wouldn’t being attacked with fire result in permanent burns?”

“Nah, we can heal it with magic,” said Panther. “Well, I guess you can’t, but Mona, Joker and I can use healing magic. Don’t worry about it.”

Fox was still not at all enthusiastic about the prospect of being engulfed in fire, but the fact that his teammates were so nonchalant about it made him feel as though he should swallow his concerns.

“Anyway, I think we’ve covered the important stuff. Let’s get going.”

Joker gestured towards a van that Fox was sure had not been there a second ago. The van’s color scheme was oddly familiar. Panther noticed him staring at it and explained, “Mona turns into a van.”

“Mona turns into a van?”

“Weird, right?”

“To be honest, I may have already exceeded my daily, or perhaps even my yearly, capacity for finding things to be unusual.”

Joker was climbing into the driver seat. “Fox, you’re new, so you get to ride shotgun.”

“I thought Skull was the one who resembled a shotgun.”

“Dude, he means ride in the front seat.” Skull lightly punched his arm.

“Oh! Yes, I can do that.” Fox sat in the front passenger seat. “Do you have a driver’s license, Joker? Where did you learn?”

“The answers to those questions are no and video games, respectively. And before you ask, it’s too late to leave the van, you willingly signed up for this, and I’m not sorry.” Joker was grinning devilishly.

Fox’s growing concerns about Joker were battling it out in his heart with his growing crush on Joker, a struggle that was cut short as Joker slammed the accelerator and the van careened down the stairs into the inky black subway tunnels. “Woo hoo!” cheered Panther, holding her hands aloft, a sentiment which Fox most certainly did not share as his stomach lurched.

The ride leveled out somewhat when they cleared the stairs, and Fox leaned forward to get a better look through the windshield. “Breathtaking. I wish I had the presence of mind to bring my sketchbook along.”

“You want to draw this? You don’t think it’s ugly?” Ren was driving more carefully now and seemed to be keeping an eye out for something.

“Just as light cannot be accurately depicted without the use of shadow, it is impossible to capture true beauty without understanding its contrasting ugliness. In these tunnels, I see -- ow!” The van slammed into a gray mass that had materialized out of the darkness, causing Fox to pitch forward and hit his elbow on the door.

“Shadow. Everyone out of the van. Mona, you’re on support,” said Joker.

Fox dutifully exited the van and saw that the Shadow had exploded into what appeared to be floating jack o’lanterns with robes. They were carrying fiery lanterns, because of course they were, and Fox sighed and braced himself as he realized exactly where this was headed.

He felt a brief moment of hot, searing pain as the fireball connected and knocked him to the ground. The experience was far less painful than he had feared, mostly because he hadn’t expected that you could actually intercept a fireball with your face and survive.

He heard gunshots near him, and looked up to see the jack o’lanterns dissipating into mist. A red-gloved hand appeared near his face, and he allowed Joker to haul him to his feet. “Nice work,” he said.

“That’s sarcasm, correct? Because I believe I spent the entire battle on the ground.”

“It happens to all of us. Soon you’ll be a pro at eating fire and tasting the ground,” Joker was grinning. “You’ll do fine.”

They all piled back into the van and drove onwards, defeating Shadow after Shadow. Fox found himself falling into an easy rhythm of casting ice and attacking with his sword as needed. The steady rhythm of the battles made it easy to focus and he found the entire experience to be intriguingly meditative, with the exception of occasional fire attacks knocking him dizzy.

Before long, they had arrived at their destination, a swirling red and black vortex at the end of a hallway. Entering it, they saw what appeared to be an ordinary high school student, tendrils of shadow licking at his feet.

“There he is! That’s gotta be the bully from the forum post,” said Panther.

“So if we defeat him, his heart will be changed and he will stop bullying? That’s how it works, correct?”

Skull slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “Yup, that’s it. Let’s take him down!”

The bully sneered at the group as they approached him. “Are you coming after me? None of what happened is my fault. It’s their fault for not standing up for themselves!”

“Bullshit!” yelled Skull. “You’re just picking on people weaker than you because you can.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty when you don’t know anything about my life. I’ll show you!”

The student melted into the ground and re-emerged as a white, snowman-like creature, similar to those he had seen yesterday in the museum. “Now’s a good time for buffs,” said Joker. Fox immediately cast his agility buff on Joker. “Thanks,” he said, looking surprised.

Fox guessed that the snowman was probably not weak to ice, but tried anyway; as expected, it had little effect. More surprisingly, it didn’t seem to respond to Panther’s fire, either.

Before he had a chance to try his sword, it had cast an unusual spell Fox hadn’t seen before on Joker. Joker suddenly looked distressed and began visibly shaking.

“It’s casting fear!” said Mona. “Joker, snap out of it!” Joker muttered something under his breath as he stared, terrified, into the middle distance. Fox laid a hand on Joker’s shoulder and shook him gently, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

“That won’t do any good!” Skull rushed forward, dealing the snowman a heavy blow with the baseball bat he was carrying. “He’ll be fine if we beat the Shadow!”

“Understood,” said Fox, reluctantly leaving Joker’s side and plunging his katana into the snowman’s midsection. A few more attacks and the snowman crumpled onto the ground. For a brief second Fox was concerned that they had killed the high school bully, but the student rose from the floor in the place where the snowman had been, his expression no longer defiant.

“Please, don’t hurt me! I had to do it. I just didn’t want him stealing my money any more!”

Joker walked up to the group, no trace of his earlier distress on his face. “Are you saying you were bullying on someone else’s orders?”

“Yes, that’s right! Please help me.”

Skull rolled his eyes. “What happened to ‘it’s their fault for not standing up for themselves’?”

“I was wrong! I admit it. Please help, Phantom Thieves.”

Joker nodded. “We’ll see what we can do, but you have to stop bullying others. And apologize to the people you hurt!”

“Yes, yes, of course I will!” The student nodded eagerly as he faded away, leaving a glowing orb in his place. Joker smiled and snatched the orb from the air.

“We got a Treasure! Awesome work, everyone,” said Mona, transforming back into a van.

“All right, everyone in,” said Joker, gesturing the group forward. Fox opened his mouth and closed it. “Fox, you look like something’s on your mind.”

“It’s just… are you all right? What happened to you earlier…”

“Yeah, that thing cast fear on me. It sucks when it happens, but I’m fine now.”

“I wasn’t aware that these creatures could attack psychologically as well as physically.”

“Oh, yeah, I probably should have warned you about that, sorry. We’ve seen a couple of types of mental attacks so far. They can be harder to deal with than physical or magic attacks, actually. The good news is, they all seem to fade out after a few minutes.”

“Is there any chance that stronger Shadows could cause more permanent effects?”

Joker shrugged. “I guess we don’t know. I hope not. You scared?”

“I find the prospect absolutely terrifying,” said Fox, “but that doesn’t mean I’m backing out. I merely wish to understand the dangers we’re facing.”

“Good, glad you’re not backing out. You’ve done good work today, you know.”

Fox was caught off guard by the compliment. “Y-yes, thank you. Same to you.”

They returned to the van, Fox in the passenger seat once more. “We found our target and trained for quite a while, so let’s call it a day,” said Joker, taking the wheel.

Panther flopped back in her seat. “Awesome, I’m wiped.”

“So that was how you change a heart, then?” asked Fox.

Joker nodded. “Well, for a small target in Mementos. Stealing a heart from a Palace is a little more complicated. The guys down here are not as far gone.”

“Are they all criminals, though?”

The question seemed to make Joker slightly uncomfortable. “No, it’s just anyone whose desires become distorted. There are a lot of criminals here, but not everyone. Some of the people here aren’t evil at all, just… desperate, maybe.” Joker was staring intently at the steering wheel as though it had done him some wrong. “We were gonna tell you… that we found you here too, the other day.”

“You found… me? I was a Shadow here?”

Joker looked up at him. “Like I was saying, not everyone here is evil.”

“So… you fought me and changed my heart?” The knowledge whipped through Fox’s mind like wind in a hurricane. He had had his heart changed by supernatural means and hadn’t even noticed? Or had he actually noticed, yesterday morning, when he woke up feeling  _ different _ ? Or rather, not different, quite the opposite -- more as though he had been restored to himself. Was that it?

“We didn’t actually have to fight you,” said Skull. “You were like… you were painting the walls.”

“It was actually a really good mural. Too bad cameras don’t work down here,” added Panther.

“Yeah, it was pretty cool looking, but it took us forever to get your attention,” Skull continued. “You kept saying that you had to keep painting or you’d die.”

Fox felt his face flush. That certainly sounded like something a manifestation of his worst impulses would say.

“Anyway, I finally had to steal your paintbrush,” said Joker. “To be honest, I thought that was going to get you to turn into a Shadow so we could fight you, but… you didn’t. Instead you just gave up. Said we could do whatever we wanted and get it over with.”

Fox couldn’t directly remember any of this, but the Persona resting in his mind was stirring.

“I told you we just wanted to talk, and that’s how we knew about Madarame making you work crazy hours and starving you. Because your Shadow told us. So I told your Shadow we’d let him go without a fight on the condition that you’d let us help you, and he agreed. The next day you texted us with an apology, so… I guess that was that.”

That certainly explained why he had such a strong urge to talk to them yesterday. He felt the sudden need to comb through his psyche to see what else had possibly changed. He wished he had someone close to him who he could ask about the differences, but the only person who knew him well before recent events was Sensei.

On the other hand, perhaps his first assessment was correct and nothing had truly changed -- they had merely restored him, like a faded painting brought back to its original, vibrant state by a careful professional.

“Anyway, that’s pretty much what happened. I hope you aren’t upset,” said Joker.

“Upset? No… quite the contrary, I believe I am in your debt even more than I previously realized. I fear I will never be able to repay you all for what you have done.”

Joker smiled. “Don’t worry about it, none of us are keeping score. We didn’t expect you to get a Persona and join the team, so you’re already helping us way more than we’d thought.”

Joker’s words surfaced a thought that had been in the back of Fox’s mind since yesterday. “When you showed me the Metaverse, you had no guarantee that I wasn’t going to take the knowledge of your identities and expose you as the Phantom Thieves.”

“Yeah, it was a risk. Worked out, though.”

Fox didn’t know what to say. Mere words could not even begin to express his emotions at that moment. Perhaps if he were a poet, rather than a devotee of the visual arts, he could manage. Since anything he said would inevitably fall short, he instead went with a simple,

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, any time.” And Joker seemed as though he meant that.


	7. An obvious forgery.

TOPIC changed by REN: Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur

REN: So we still gotta get that door open

YUSUKE: The one in the Metaverse that looked like Sensei’s storage room, correct?

REN: Yeah, that’s it

REN: Since it’s in Madarame’s cognition, it’s not enough to just open the door, he has to see that it’s open in the real world

YUSUKE: That may not be easy. That door has been shut with a heavy padlock as far back as I can remember.

RYUJI: do you know where madarame keeps the key

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I do not.

REN: Morgana is saying he can pick the lock

YUSUKE: In the real world?

REN: Yeah

YUSUKE: With cat paws?

REN: He says he’s not a cat and he’s going to use lockpicks

YUSUKE: But how is he going to use lockpicks with cat paws?

REN: You know what, you can ask him, he’s glaring pretty hard at both of us

REN: Well, at me and at your icon on the phone

YUSUKE: Well, I suppose if he thinks himself capable, I’m not about to argue.

REN: So we’ll need to take care of this at a time when Madarame’s home

REN: And we’ll also need at least one person in the Metaverse at the time to run past the door and shut off the security

YUSUKE: Sensei already informed me that he wouldn’t be home tonight, as there is an event at the gallery. I expect he’ll be at home tomorrow evening, though.

REN: All right, then you’ll get Morgana into your place tomorrow when Madarame’s home

REN: Meanwhile the rest of us will be in the Metaverse waiting

REN: Morgana will open the door and you’ll need to make sure Madarame sees it, then the two of you join us in the Metaverse

REN: That work for everyone?

RYUJI: yup

ANN: got it

YUSUKE: One problem, though. I’m currently the only other person living in the atelier. If Sensei sees the door is open, he’ll immediately suspect me.

RYUJI: will you get in trouble

YUSUKE: Very likely.

RYUJI: how much trouble

IMAGE attached by YUSUKE: death-of-marat.png

RYUJI: wtf

ANN: is that a guy getting murdered

YUSUKE: It is a metaphor.

RYUJI: has anyone ever told you you’re kind of dramatic

YUSUKE: No. You are the first.

RYUJI: …

RYUJI: seriously???

REN: Can we make it look like it was a break-in

YUSUKE: Even if you could, he is likely to suspect my involvement anyway, I feel.

YUSUKE: That does not mean I don’t agree to this. I just wanted to inform you that it may result in complications.

REN: What if he decides to get you kicked out of school ahead of schedule

YUSUKE: He probably won’t. He’s rather desperate for me to complete those paintings.

YUSUKE: As long as I seem to be working, he’s unlikely to punish me too harshly until after his deadline has passed.

ANN: yeah but can you keep up working and school and phantom thieves too

YUSUKE: It’s only until we steal Sensei’s heart, correct?

REN: Are you sure about this

YUSUKE: You’ve already taken enough risks for me. Allow me to take one myself.

REN: Okay then, we’ll meet up in front of your place tomorrow

ANN: see ya then!

* * *

 

“Sensei?” Yusuke called into the atelier. “Sensei, are you here?” 

His schoolbag rustled so hard it slipped off his shoulder onto the floor. He could hear a muffled “ow!” from inside.

He unzipped the bag. “It seems as though Sensei isn’t home yet. Are you all right?”

“Ugh, why do you carry so much stuff in here? There’s like, three pencil cases and a million tubes of paint. Ren has plenty of room in  _ his _ bag. You can’t possibly need all this.” The white patch on Morgana’s face had somehow become smeared with charcoal.

“Ren isn’t taking classes in the fine arts on top of his normal schoolwork. I assure you that all of those supplies are absolutely necessary.”

Morgana hopped out of the bag, shaking errant pencil shavings off his tail. “If you say so. Now, where’s the door I’m going to break into?” Even in cat form, the mischievous smile on Morgana’s face was plain as day.

“It’s in the back. Allow me to show you.” Yusuke led Morgana to Sensei’s storage room, which had always been locked with an enormous padlock, and which Yusuke had never seen inside. The peacock mural painted on the door had been added by one of Sensei’s students many years ago, a favorite of Yusuke’s who always let him watch her work and borrow her books to read. A student who had been driven away when Sensei found out she was the one who called the social worker to check on Yusuke.

Best to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, pick me up so I can take a look at the lock. Hmm. Yes, I think I can do this. Where’d you put the lockpicks?” Yusuke rummaged through his bag for the delicate lockpicks. He had stashed them in the front pocket so they wouldn’t get lost -- no, wait, perhaps in the inner pocket. Or his pencil case? Or his other pencil case?

Morgana’s tail was twitching with increasing impatience. “Don’t tell me you lost them!”

“No, no, I’m sure they were -- oh!” The lockpicks weren’t in his schoolbag at all, but in his pants pocket.

“Great, now, uh -- I can probably balance on top of the lock if you put me up there. Now hand me the lockpicks.” It turned out that the answer to Yusuke’s earlier question about how Morgana would use lockpicks was mostly by keeping them in his mouth. It was hard to see what Morgana was doing, exactly, so Yusuke gave up trying to figure it out and pulled out his sketchbook.

Morgana groaned in frustration. “This is taking me way longer than I thought. I wish I had proper hands like in the Metaverse -- wait, are you  _ drawing me _ ?”

“Would you prefer I didn’t?”

“No, just get my good side, I guess. Wait, I think I -- yeah! Got it!” The lock popped open with a satisfying click, and Morgana knocked it off the door as he jumped off. “Now just open the door!”

Yusuke felt no small amount of trepidation as he cracked open the door to the storage room, and not just because of the almost certainly impending trouble with Sensei. It was at least partially due to a childhood suspicion that the room that was never open must surely hold something terrible within. Utter rubbish, he reminded himself as he carefully peered inside. With only the sunlight from the hallway illuminating the inside of the room, all Yusuke could make out was what appeared to be paintings in storage.

The mysterious room holding nothing more than paintings was not exactly a shocking revelation, except that Sensei of course had another, larger storage for artwork upstairs. Yusuke knew every inch of that room, since he was so frequently tasked with maintenance and preparing pieces to sell or show. What, exactly, was in this second storage room that Sensei couldn’t trust anyone to see…?

The door creaked a bit as Morgana entered the room. “C’mon, aren’t you curious?”

“I am, but… I don’t wish for Sensei to come home and catch me here.”

“Suit yourself,” said Morgana. Yusuke waited in the hall, trying to calm his heart, which was currently operating at hummingbird speed.

A few minutes later, Morgana poked his head back out. “I really think you need to see this right now.”

Yusuke sighed, steeled his nerves, and entered the room. He flipped the nearby lightswitch to see --

“ _ Sayuri.” _

“That’s the painting you were showing us a few days ago, right?”

“Indeed, except these are obvious forgeries.” Yusuke was examining one of the  _ Sayuri _ copies, although he didn’t even need to get close to see that it was fake. “The brushstrokes are entirely wrong, especially around the face here, and the red of the woman’s clothes is clearly a darker shade. Only someone with little knowledge of the original painting would be taken in by these copies.”

“Whoa, it’s pretty cool that you can tell that. Why would Madarame have so many fakes in storage? Doesn’t he have the real thing?”

“The actual  _ Sayuri _ was stolen when I was quite young. As for why he has the fakes… to take forgeries off the market, perhaps?”

“Or to put forgeries  _ on _ the market.”

Yusuke let out his breath. “Yes, I fear that may be the case. Sensei obviously isn’t above passing student work off as his own, so it seems doubtful he’d have moral compunctions against selling forgeries. He must tell prospective buyers that it’s secretly the stolen  _ Sayuri _ . I believe similar crimes have been attempted in the past.”

“If that’s what he’s doing, wouldn’t he be worried about the real  _ Sayuri _ turning up? Since it’s still out there.”

“I suppose so, but -- hm. I wonder.” Yusuke began searching the storage room more intently, taking the drop cloths off of several paintings at the back. One was his unfinished abstract painting, the canvas the color of concrete with red shapes painted on it, that Sensei had declared a failure last week. There was a note on it indicating it had been sold to a private collection, because of course it was. Finally, Yusuke revealed what he had hoped and feared to find:

“This is the real  _ Sayuri _ .”

“Oh! Are you sure?”

“I know this painting better than I know my own face. This is, without a doubt, the true  _ Sayuri _ .”

“Who are you talking to, Yusuke?”

Yusuke nearly dropped the priceless painting he was holding. Sensei was standing in the doorway to the storage room, looking somehow more terrifying than when he was a Shadow in the Metaverse threatening Yusuke with death.

“Why have you broken into my private storage room?”

“Why have  _ you  _ forged the  _ Sayuri _ ?”

Sensei pulled out his phone, wielding it like a weapon. “I should call the police on you for trespassing, even if you are my ward.”

“I suppose calling the police here would make it easier for me to show them the forgeries.” Yusuke glared, defiant.

“Yusuke, are you threatening me with blackmail?! After all I’ve done for you? After I’ve raised you, and kept you safe all these years?” Yusuke didn’t budge. “No one would believe you if you went public with this. It’d be your word against mine. I have the art world wrapped around my fingers. You’re a mere student.” Yusuke didn’t move a muscle. “I could throw you out, you know. You’re old enough that my obligations towards you are minimal. You’d lose your scholarship and end up on the street. Is that what you want?”

Sensei was absolutely furious, angrier than Yusuke could ever remember, but while Sensei’s fury was a familiar presence, something else in his demeanor was not. Yusuke didn’t recognize it right away, but when he did, it was unmistakable.

Fear.

“You have no students left, Sensei. If you report me to the police or throw me out, who will complete your paintings?”

Sensei’s eyes narrowed. “What are you playing at, Yusuke?”

Outwardly, Yusuke took a deep breath and kept his face as smooth and expressionless as his Phantom Thief mask. Inwardly, he was having a total breakdown, but if he showed even a shred of that, then he wouldn’t make it out of this situation.

“You were only making these forgeries because you needed the money, correct?”

“That’s right. Keeping up our living expenses requires a steady stream of income, and when it is  _ disrupted _ , I have no choice but to find other means of revenue.” Sensei was looking at Yusuke pointedly, clearly shifting the blame for his financial situation onto his overworked student. Yusuke, on the other hand, was thinking of Shadow Sensei’s golden robes and his boasts of a fat bank account.

“I understand that you had no choice,” Yusuke lied through his teeth, hoping his face didn’t betray him. “I don’t intend to expose this to anyone. I’ll return to my work and complete the paintings you requested of me so you won’t be required to resort to such distasteful methods of raising income. In return, I ask that you please do not involve the police or remove me from the atelier.”

Goemon howled in fury at Yusuke attempting to strike a deal with his oppressor.  _ You help me survive in the Metaverse and I’ll work out how to survive in the real world _ , he shot back.

Sensei was considering Yusuke’s words and his features were softening. “If any word of this gets out -- if I even hear about an online rumor about forgeries -- then I will throw you out immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“And I require as many high-quality paintings as you can produce in the next few weeks. When you are not at school, I expect you to spend the rest of your time here, creating as much art as you can. You’ve clearly lost sight of your priorities if you have time to violate my privacy out of curiosity or boredom.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Sensei’s eyes still burned with anger, but he nodded, satisfied. “Very well. Let’s see if we can put this behind us, then. I suggest you return to your work immediately, Yusuke.”

Sensei beckoned Yusuke out of the storage room, then closed the door and locked it up. Yusuke turned to head to his room, but --

“One more thing, Sensei.”

“What is it?” he said, irritated.

“I’m nearly out of both money and food, which makes it difficult to concentrate on painting. If I could receive my allowance…”

Sensei turned angrily on him. “What have I told you about learning to sacrifice? A true artist turns out his best work under adversity. Only the talentless and lazy blame their failures on outward factors like money.”

Yusuke had heard variants of this speech thousands of times throughout his life, but now he was hearing it with the sure knowledge that Sensei wasn’t ever going hungry himself. As if on cue, Yusuke’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“Fine. I need you to finish your work, not whine about food.” He reached into his pocket and produced a few bills, which he handed over to Yusuke. “See to it that I don’t regret the kindness I’m showing you.”

Sensei walked away, and Yusuke all but fled to his room. After that scene, Sensei was absolutely going to get his scholarship revoked if they didn’t change his heart, but apart from that, it had gone about as well as one could expect.

Particularly since he had money. He always felt ashamed at the surge of joy he felt whenever he received some money. It was unbecoming of an artist -- and yet, money meant new supplies, and  _ food _ . In his haste, Sensei had actually given him more than his usual allowance. Alone in his room, where no one could judge him, Yusuke  _ may _ have spent several minutes gazing at the money in adoration while fantasizing about ramen and burgers, before remembering there was something he was supposed to be doing.

Oh yes, he was supposed to meet up with the rest of the group in the Metaverse. The problem now was that he couldn’t leave his room without risking Sensei’s ire again. Considering Sensei’s Palace comprised the entirety of the atelier, he could potentially enter the Metaverse from his own room, but there was no telling where he might end up. Morgana might know --

Yusuke shot upright as he realized that Sensei had likely locked Morgana in the storage room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Death of Marat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Death_of_Marat)


	8. Correctly identifying painting styles.

Yusuke cursed under his breath. How in the world was he going to retrieve Morgana from a locked room?

Attempting to get back into the storage room was likely to provoke Sensei’s ire anew, but if the alternative was leaving Morgana alone to die, he didn’t have much choice. He had Morgana’s lockpicks, but didn’t know how to use them, and Sensei probably still had the key in his pocket. Did he really have no better option than to beg Sensei to open the door again and endure the questions of how a cat had found its way inside?

Just as Yusuke took a deep breath and rose from his seat, he heard a soft scratching noise at his door. “Oh thank god,” Yusuke mumbled to himself as he opened the door to reveal an unharmed cat.

“Good, there you are. I couldn’t remember which room was yours.”

“Quickly, get inside before Sensei spots you.” He closed the door behind Morgana. “I thought you had been trapped in the storage room.”

“Nah, I ran out while you guys were talking. Speaking of which… you’re not really gonna let the forgeries thing go, are you?”

“Of course not. I’ve already agreed to change his heart. But if he throws me out or has my scholarship revoked before we do so… it would be highly inconvenient.”

“I see,” said Morgana thoughtfully, then brightened. “Don’t worry, though! We’re definitely going to change his heart, and then everything will be okay!”

Morgana was smiling sympathetically. “Indeed,” said Yusuke, smiling back. Inwardly he had his doubts that changing Sensei’s heart would truly make  _ everything _ okay, but he supposed he’d have time to sort that out after they finished the task at hand.

“C’mon, we gotta go to the Metaverse. The rest of the team is waiting for us,” said Morgana, moving towards the door.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave the atelier tonight after that conversation. Even leaving my room might pose a problem, since I’m supposed to be working. Could you tell the others of my situation, and apologize on my behalf? Perhaps we could leave the exploration of Sensei’s palace to another day.”

“What, really?” Morgana looked disappointed. “I guess it can’t be helped… unless we could enter the Metaverse here.”

“Is that safe?”

“Well… we’re outside of the storage room, which means we’d probably end up in a section of the museum we’ve already explored and mostly cleared of Shadows, so it’d probably be okay. We’d just have to make it to the security gate without fighting, which we nearly did the other day when you were with us. What do you think? You up for it?”

“Hm… nothing ventured, nothing gained, I suppose. Very well, send us to the Metaverse.”

“Uh, you’re gonna have to do that. I can only take myself.”

“Truly? I don’t know how.”

“Are you serious? You should have brought that up earlier!”

“I thought  _ you _ were going to take care of sending us into the Metaverse.”

Morgana looked peeved in the way that only a cat can. “Fine. Pull out your phone. You should have a weird creepy app with an eye.”

“Oh! When did that get there?”

“You have it? Good. Start it up, and say the following keywords: Madarame. Shack. Museum.”

Yusuke did as instructed. An artificial voice came from his phone: “Beginning navigation.” Before he had a chance to adequately brace himself, the real world was slipping away into the Metaverse once more.

They emerged into a small office, about the same size as the room they had just left. In fact, when Fox looked closely at the office furnishings, they blurred and faded back into the familiar surroundings of his own room.

Mona hopped on a chair. “Perfect, it’s a safe room. I think we’ve been in this safe room before, too.”

“A safe room?”

“It’s a place in a Palace where the ruler’s cognition is weak, so Shadows avoid it. It makes sense your room would be connected to a safe room, since it’s a place in Madarame’s shack that isn’t entirely his.”

Yusuke felt oddly comforted that his room was still somewhat his room, even in Sensei’s Palace. He cracked open the door and peered outside. The safe room was connected to one of the many near-identical galleries, which wasn’t very helpful for getting his bearings, especially since the only other time he had been here he had been rushed through in a whirlwind of disorientation and unanswered questions. He could see the dark outline of a security guard Shadow lurking around the exhibits.

“What do you want to do? Think we can get past that Shadow?” asked Mona.

“Well, if it happened to be weak to ice or wind we’d have no problem.”

“What if it cast electricity?”

“Then you would be missed.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll remember that next time you get lit on fire.”

Fox shook his head and continued to watch the Shadow’s movements. “What would Joker do?” he mused aloud.

Mona rolled his eyes. “Work three part time jobs, eat a Big Bang Burger challenge, do an experimental drug trial and go to bed way too late.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m just saying, imitating Joker is a bad idea.”

“Regardless, I’m going to attempt to ambush that Shadow by approaching it from behind and ripping off its mask.”

“Be serious.” Mona’s eyes widened as Fox slipped out of the room. “Oh no, you  _ are _ serious. Fox! Wait, Fox!”

Face set with determination, Fox plastered himself flat against one of the gallery exhibits and waited for the Shadow to get in place -- now!

He leapt from his hiding place with surprising grace, approaching the Shadow from behind and clutching at its -- where was its mask? Its mask should be on its face and yet he couldn’t get a good purchase on it. As Fox fumbled, the security guard reached an arm back and slammed him into the wall. He sprang to his feet as the form of the guard exploded into three small, red devil women.

Red. Devil. He realized just in time to dodge the jet of fire aimed in his direction, removing his mask and pointing Goemon in the Shadows’ direction. His mass ice spell connected with a satisfying crack as the devils screamed and fell to the floor, Fox and Mona rushing them with their swords.

“Easier than cleaning my brushes,” said Fox, sheathing his sword and trying to reassert his dignity.

“That was crazy!” Mona threw a healing spell his way. “What were you thinking?”

“Perhaps emulating Joker was indeed a bad idea,” he admitted, embarrassed.

Mona scanned their surroundings. “The security gate’s not far. Let’s get going. Oh, and try not to pull any more stunts like that, okay?”

“Noted,” said Fox, dutifully following Mona. Thankfully, there were few Shadows left in this part of the Palace and the pair were able to make it to their destination with no further incident.

Skull spotted them as they rejoined the team. “There you are! We were gettin’ worried about you. Panther thought you had died.”

“Fox nearly did die,” said Mona, accusingly.

“From Shadows or from Madarame?” asked Joker.

“Both.”

“Well, the gate dropped a while ago, and we were able to disable the security. I take it he caught you breaking into the room?”

Fox’s expression darkened. “He caught me examining one of several counterfeits of the  _ Sayuri _ he had in his possession, specifically.”

“ _ Sayuri _ ? Isn’t that the super famous painting you were showing us?” said Panther. “He’s counterfeiting it?”

“It would appear so, yes. His contempt for art runs even deeper than I would have imagined.”

“Okay, so, now I’m actually kind of surprised you aren’t dead, Fox,” said Joker. “Or at the very least, that you’re in one piece. You found his counterfeiting operation, he caught you, and he let you go?”

Fox shrugged. “It’s as I said before -- he’s desperate. Right now I believe his primary sources of money are selling my paintings and those counterfeits. He only let me go on the condition that I work myself to the bone creating paintings for him and that no word gets out about the fake  _ Sayuri _ s. I do suspect I’m operating on borrowed time right now, though -- the other shoe will drop eventually.”

“All right, we’ll have to make sure we’re making good use of your borrowed time, then. Everyone ready to go?”

The team ran through the place where the security gate used to be, through another gallery -- dispatching Shadows on the way -- and into a room with an enormous golden statue of Madarame.

“Very tasteful and humble,” said Joker, regarding the statue.

Fox shook his head. “Ludicrous. I wish I had brought paints or at least a marker.”

“To draw a funny mustache on him?” Skull was grinning.

“Perhaps,” said Fox, smiling. “After all, artists using graffiti as a means of protest is an ancient tradition.”

Past the statue, they came to a corridor filled with security lasers.

“How are we going to get past all those lasers?” said Panther.

“Is it another thing where we have to change Madarame’s cognition? Like do something in the real world to make the lasers shut off?”

“As I’m fairly certain I would have noticed a grid of security lasers being installed in the atelier, I doubt this corresponds to anything in the real world.”

“I don’t see any way to turn them off…” said Mona, searching the area.

Joker was looking at the laser corridor with an expression more suited to solving complex mathematical equations in his head. “Guys, I think we can get through this. Follow me.” And with that, he slid under the first set of lasers, hopped over the next, dove in between another, and slid under three more lasers to the end of the corridor. He turned and beckoned the team forward.

Skull’s face was full of disbelief. “Is he for real?” He slapped Fox on the back. “Well, new guy, you heard our leader. Go ahead!”

“I think I would prefer the example of a veteran member of the group. Why don’t you go before me?”

“You already had an example, you saw Joker do it.”

“Emulating Joker has brought me nothing but trouble today.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Are you guys gonna stand there arguing or are you coming?” yelled Mona from the end of the corridor with Joker.

“Maybe Panther could go next -- “ Skull turned to where she had been standing to see that she was gone, already maneuvering through the laser field with skill.

“Is there a problem?” called Joker.

“I’ll be blunt,” said Fox. “I have serious doubts about my ability to navigate this corridor without inadvertently activating every laser along the way.”

“Same,” said Skull.

“You guys are hopeless!” chided Mona. “Wait, hold on, this looks like the control panel to turn it off.” Joker smashed something on the wall with his foot and the lasers disappeared.

Panther groaned. “You couldn’t have done that before? Do you know how uncomfortable it is to slide across the floor in a leather catsuit?” She glared at Skull. “And  _ you _ wipe that look off your face right now!”

A series of corridors led to an enormous room, almost the size of a gymnasium. The walls were covered with amateurish landscape paintings several times taller than a person.

“Did we miss something earlier?” said Mona. “There aren’t any obvious ways forward from here, but I didn’t see any other paths recently…”

Joker was scanning the room intently. Fox had noticed him doing that frequently, often parking his gaze on some vase or sculpture that looked completely unremarkable but turned out to be full of treasure or money when Joker grabbed for it.

As Joker searched, Fox wandered over to the back wall to examine the paintings. The brushwork was a close match to the portraits of students in the Palace and the false  _ Sayuri _ s, indicating that these paintings were Sensei’s. While not terrible, they were also nothing to write home about. If Fox had turned in work of this quality, Sensei would have demanded he redo it.

“There.” Joker pointed upwards at a ventilation duct in the corner, just above a ledge. Said ledge was at least two stories in the air with no obvious way to climb up to it.

“Uh… how are we gonna get up there?” asked Skull.

There was something odd about the texture of these particular paintings. They almost seemed to ripple as Fox got closer. He reached a hand out to a desert landscape and…

A hot, dry wind blasted him in the face as Fox immediately found himself  _ inside _ the desert landscape -- or rather, a small room about the size of the frame he had entered that contained sand dunes and a camel that obviously had been painted without a reference.

“Fox!” He could see the museum through the wall where the picture frame would be. Panther was standing there, looking frantic. “Did you get pulled inside the painting? Are you trapped?”

Fox walked up to where she was, and found that he could simply step out of the frame and back into the room. “It would appear not.”

Joker curiously put a hand up to the painting and was sucked inside. “Hm. I can see it.”

“See what?”

“I think there’s a way to the duct, if we enter and exit the paintings. C’mon.”

The team exchanged a look before they all put hands to the canvas and entered the artificial desert. Sensei’s voice boomed overhead. “Take your filthy feet off of my masterpiece!”

Fox rolled his eyes. “Your brushwork is unskilled and your use of color leaves much to be desired!” he called upward.

“Dude, I don’t think he can hear you.”

“Perhaps not, but it makes  _ me _ feel better.”

They carefully leapt from painting to painting, “visiting” a blurry bamboo garden, a crude rendition of a shrine, and what appeared to be a halfhearted stab at a cubist work, before arriving at the ventilation duct and crawling through, emerging into a nondescript office.

They opened the office door, expecting another series of mundane corridors, and instead they found themselves in a mindbending recreation of M.C. Escher’s  _ Relativity _ .

“Remarkable,” said Fox under his breath.

“I know, right? This is crazy,” said Panther.

“I didn’t know Sensei was a fan of M.C. Escher.”

“Yeah, I -- what? That’s your takeaway?”

“Guys, c’mon,” Joker walked forward. “These insane surreal stairs aren’t going to climb themselves.”

A half hour later, they found themselves wishing that the stairs would indeed climb themselves, as they had made no obvious forward progress. It wasn’t even clear what forward progress would look like in such an environment.

“I think this is a cognitive trap,” said Mona.

“Geez, you don’t say,” said Skull, irritated. “We’ve only been trapped going in circles for the past goddamn  _ hour _ .”

“It’s only been like thirty minutes -- but still, yeah, it’s probably a trap,” said Panther.

“A cognitive trap?” inquired Fox.

“People who develop Palaces generally spend a whole lot of time thinking about how to guard their Treasures -- that is, whatever made them develop distorted desires in the first place. This usually leads to their Palaces forming traps or obstacles to prevent Phantom Thieves like us from stealing their Treasure. The laser grids we saw earlier are kind of a minor example of that, but sometimes cognitive traps can get really elaborate, like this one. Kamoshida had one that -- “

“We agreed not to talk about that,” said Panther.

“It wasn’t so bad,” said Skull.

“I  _ apologized _ , and we agreed  _ not to talk about that _ ,” said Panther, hand on her whip.

“Fine, fine. So you’re sayin’ we’re trapped in here? Like… forever?”

“Not forever.” Joker shook his head. “There’s always been a way out so far, we just have to find it. Let’s take a few minutes to stop and get our bearings. It’s obvious that just blindly walking forward isn’t helping.”

Fox was grateful for a chance to rest his legs, and sat on the edge of one of the staircase landings, feet dangling off the side into an endless void of swirling paint. In fact, their entire surroundings appeared to be painted, with technique similar to what he knew of Sensei’s…

...except for the parts that clearly weren’t.

Fox stood up in surprise. Hallways and staircases radiated out from them in every direction, with no indication of where they led, and up until now they had been guessing and becoming increasingly lost. (Joker, at least, claimed to be keeping track of their choices so they could make their way back if needed.) Fox had been so tired and so engrossed in the surreality of the situation that he hadn’t noticed that one of the available paths was noticeably different from the rest -- somewhat lighter in color, and clearly painted by a more skilled hand than Sensei’s. It was, in fact, extremely similar to Fox’s own work. More importantly, it was nearly identical to the  _ Sayuri _ \-- the real  _ Sayuri _ .

Joker was at his side. “Fox, you look like you’ve seen something.”

“Yes!” he said with excitement, explaining what he had just seen to the team.

Joker walked over and examined the different pathways himself. “Man, Fox, I’m gonna have to trust your judgement on this, because I can’t tell any difference at all.”

“I’m sure of it,” he said firmly.

“I believe you. It’s not like we have better ideas, anyway. All right, let’s go.”

They climbed the staircase that Fox indicated, walking underneath an arch, and could immediately tell they were in a new area they hadn’t visited before. “Whoa, I think it worked,” said Skull. “Way to go, Fox!”

It took more time and more climbing, but with Fox leading the way they were finally able to escape the endless stairs, emerging into an ordinary office corridor with a nearby safe room.

Joker rarely looked anything other than composed, but at that moment, the relief on his face was obvious. “Thank fucking  _ god _ ,” he said, and they all nodded their agreement.


	9. Drawing up blueprints.

The team left the safe room after an all-too-brief respite, Mona insisting that the treasure was close. Sure enough, as they rounded the corner, they arrived at the entrance of another massive gallery. Shadow Sensei was there, standing in front of a thick grid of security lasers, guarding…

“What is that?” asked Fox. “They appear to be guarding nothing more than a disturbance in the air.”

“That’s the treasure!” said Mona, bouncing with excitement.”

“The treasure is an amorphous gray blob?”

“Now that we’ve found it, we’ll need to send a calling card to Madarame — the real Madarame. Once he reads that his desires are in danger of being stolen, the treasure will materialize right there. The effect only lasts about a day, though, and it can’t be repeated, so we have to be sure we do it right the first time.”

“I wonder what form it will take,” said Panther.

“Probably like a self portrait,” said Ryuji.

“The treasure is the thing that caused their distorted desires in the first place, right?” Panther thought aloud. “For Kamoshida, it was a gold medal. For Madarame, maybe like… a really good review from an art critic?”

“The  _ Sayuri _ .” Fox was completely certain of this.

“Oh, right!” said Panther. “You said that’s his most famous painting, right? If he got super famous from that but then couldn’t paint anything as good, it would’ve messed him up. Do you think that’s why he started stealing from his students?”

“It runs even deeper than that,” said Fox. “The  _ Sayuri _ may be the first painting he stole.”

“You think he stole the  _ Sayuri _ ?” said Joker. “That’d make sense. None of the paintings we’ve seen in here are very good.”

“Precisely. What’s more, the paintings in Sensei’s museum seem to be a close match to the style of the counterfeit  _ Sayuri _ s I saw in his storage. The cognitive trap we just escaped even required the knowledge that the style and technique of the  _ Sayuri _ is different from Sensei’s. It could just be a matter of his talent deteriorating over the years, but I have my doubts.”

Joker nodded. “Well, if Madarame stole the  _ Sayuri _ originally, let’s figure out how to steal it back.” There was that devilish grin. Such a terrible shame that he couldn’t properly capture it in his art --

\-- except if they changed Sensei’s heart, his restriction on drawing and painting men would essentially be lifted. In the grand scheme of things he supposed that wasn’t truly important compared to preventing Sensei from getting his scholarship revoked, but the thought pleased him nonetheless.

“Fox, you comin’?” While Fox was lost in contemplation, the rest of the team was headed around the corner.

“Madarame is guarding his treasure much better than Kamoshida did. We’re going to have to find a way to disable those lasers, and maybe draw away some of the guards. I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do about Madarame himself -- he’s unlikely to leave his treasure, so we may have to fight him like we did Kamoshida.”

“Ugh,” Ann shuddered. “If we have to fight Madarame, I hope he’s less… creepy.”

Fox raised an eyebrow, curious, but feeling as though he shouldn’t ask. “Giant tongue. That’s all I’m gonna say,” said Ann.

“Understood,” said Fox.

“Well, there seems to be a conveniently located control room right here. Let’s check it out.” Joker beckoned them into a room overlooking the gallery, with an obvious glowing computer display. He sat at the computer with a look of deep concentration on his face.

“There’s an option to disable the laser grid, but it’s password protected.”

“So hack it,” said Skull.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just Unix the GUI to get the salted password hash and then reverse rainbow table it.”

“For real?!”

“Skull, I forgot my own Facebook password twice yesterday. I don’t know how to hack a cognitive mind computer.”

“Maybe we could just try passwords until one works?”

“AAAAAA. AAAAAB. AAAAAC,” Joker deadpanned. “Wait, it looks like the laser grid is password protected, but the electrical grid isn’t. That seems like a serious flaw.”

“Well, Sensei isn’t very technologically savvy,” said Fox.

“Here goes.” Joker pushed a button and the lights went down everywhere -- except for the lasers.

In the gallery below, Madarame looked around frantically. “What?! Who’s doing that? Start the emergency power and send the guards!”

The lights came up almost immediately as the emergency power kicked in. “That wasn’t as useful as I had hoped,” said Joker.

“Heads up, we’ve got company!” Skull smashed a security guard over the head with his lead pipe as it entered the room.

One quick Shadow battle later, Joker was staring out the window into the gallery. “See anything?” said Morgana.

“The laser grid only covers the sides. The top is completely open. If we could drop down from above…”

“Ooh, nice find!” They all looked at the ceiling above the treasure. “I bet there’s a way to get up in those rafters. Let’s go!”

* * *

A few too many battles later and they had finally arrived in a maintenance room high above the main gallery. As determined as Fox was to steal Sensei’s heart, he was getting extremely tired of having his feet taken out from under him by jets of flame, and his fatigue was causing his ice spells to become increasingly erratic, less like perfect crystals and more like tossing handfuls of ice cubes from a bucket.

Morgana had climbed out on the rafters to see what options they had for nabbing the treasure, so the rest of the team was taking a breather while waiting for him to report back. Fox was trying to take the opportunity to recenter his thoughts, but the sheer amount of mental input of the last week was making that practically impossible.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Joker had appeared next to him, leaning casually on the wall.

“Yes, you could certainly say that.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Indeed, there was a great deal. He went with the most pressing topic: “I was thinking that I have no idea what my life will be like when we change Sensei’s heart.”

“You’ve lived with him pretty much your whole life, right?” Fox nodded. “Yeah, that won’t be easy to adjust to.”

“I am looking forward to having a great deal more freedom, but there is also dread. And uncertainty. There is a kind of bizarre comfort in having your life more or less out of your hands.”

Joker looked like he understood. “Freedom means the freedom to screw up.”

“Yes, precisely. To be quite frank, when it comes to my own life, I often feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Shit, we’re supposed to know what we’re doing? I sure missed that boat.” Joker laughed.

“Hey, hey!” Mona had returned from his expedition. “I think I found a way. There’s a crane in the gallery ceiling! If we can find the controls, you could tie me to the crane’s hook and lower me down to grab the treasure.”

“Won’t they notice you being lowered?” Panther asked.

“If we use the computer to cut the lights at the same time, they might not spot me until it’s too late. What do you think?”

Joker rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s risky, but… it’s probably our best shot. It’s also completely out of a heist movie, which is awesome. Let’s do it!”

“Hell yeah!” cheered Skull.

“Now we just have to find the controls for the crane,” said Panther.

“Actually, I bet these are them,” said Skull, pointing at a nearby control box. “Let me handle this, I’m the best at crane games.”

“Is that truly the same skill set…?”

Mona scampered back out onto the rafters as Skull tried to move the crane. “Yeah, that’s it! It’s totally working. Just move it a little to the left… it’s lined up over the treasure now. Nice! Try lowering it just to make sure it works. Great! Stop now. Stop! Stop! They’ll see!”

Mona returned to the group with an air of triumph. “I think we’ve secured our route to the treasure! Now all we have to do is send the calling card.”

“You should do it, Fox, I bet you could make an amazing calling card,” said Panther.

“We have to deliver this to Sensei in the real world, correct? It may not be a good idea for me to handle the calling card, then, as he knows my drawing and writing styles far too well.”

“I did the last one, so I’m cool with doing this one too,” said Skull.

“Why don’t we have Skull and Fox make the card together?”

“Works for me,” said Skull. “How about you?”

“Certainly. I’ll contact you tomorrow, after school, then.”

With that decided, the group left the Palace, dropping Fox off at the safe room where he entered so he could arrive back in his own room and avoid trouble.

Yusuke was dead tired, almost as tired as the day he had awakened his Persona, but he needed to keep Sensei from becoming suspicious of him -- at least for a few more days. There was nothing for it but to keep himself awake as long as possible while working on his latest painting. He painted until the third time he knocked over the cup of water he was using to clean his brushes by slowly falling asleep on top of his supplies, then finally gave up and went to bed.


	10. A logo suitable for a t-shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide discussed

Yusuke was in a far corner of the Kosei school library, idly sketching a seaside landscape and trying not to fall asleep. Normally he was better at operating on only two hours of sleep, but then, he usually wasn’t spending half his time fighting demons in an alternate dimension. Thankfully, the unexpected reappearance of money in his life meant he could afford to buy a can of coffee.

\--bzzt bzzt--

RYUJI: holy shit why is your school library so huge

YUSUKE: To hold the books?

RYUJI: our library has like eight books in it

RYUJI: anyway where are you

YUSUKE: I’m in the back corner. The left corner, if you’ve just entered through the front.

RYUJI: cool i see ya

Yusuke began to type another message but was interrupted by a loud -slam!- He looked up to see Ryuji’s face grinning at him.

“I brought magazines!” he said, indicating the stack that he had unceremoniously plopped on the table.

“Why…?”

“So we can do those cool cut-out letters like a ransom note!”

“Isn’t that a little cliche?”

“Hell yeah it is!” said Ryuji enthusiastically. “Wait… are you sayin’ we  _ don’t _ want that?”

Yusuke shrugged amiably. “Perhaps it’s a classic for a reason. However, I would point out that it may be easier to achieve that effect by drawing the letters, rather than painstakingly cutting them from magazines.”

“Fair enough, you’re the art guy.” Ryuji pulled a red postcard from his bag and slid it across the table. “This is the one I made for Kamoshida. Whatcha think?”

Yusuke picked up the bright red card with the crude, unrecognizable logo drawn in black Sharpie and tried to think of something charitable to say. “Well… the red and black color scheme is fitting to the subject matter,” he offered.

Ryuji groaned. “Oh geez, don’t critique it like a painting.”

Yusuke blinked. “What should I critique it like?”

“You know what, never mind. Just read the back.”

Yusuke flipped the card over. “‘Sir Suguru Kamoshida, the utter bastard of lust —‘ Lust?”

“Yeah, didn’t you know that part? He was forcin’ himself on the female students.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, and be careful what you say about that around Ann,” said Ryuji, voice lowered.

“Ann was…?!”

“No, no! But her best friend —he did  _ something  _ to her. Somethin’ bad enough she jumped off the roof of the school. She didn’t die, but she’s still in the hospital.”

Yusuke stared at his empty can of coffee.

_ He was dragging his feet on the way home from middle school. He knew as soon as he arrived he’d be sent to work painting all night again —but if he delayed too long, he’d get in trouble for being late. _

_ It wasn’t that he didn’t want to paint. He loved making art, and he knew Sensei needed all the work he could get for the major exhibition he was mounting in America next month. He was proud of the fact that his work would be shown internationally. He wasn’t even certain what the problem was. Perhaps there wasn’t any problem. He was just being lazy. _

_ And Sensei had restocked the atelier with snacks and coffee yesterday, so things were going well, considering. _

_ Natsuhiko was in the kitchen, sketching, when Yusuke entered and made a beeline to the refrigerator, grabbing a can of coffee. _

_ “Fueling up?” said Natsuhiko, not looking up from his drawing. _

_ Yusuke had already located a bag of chips in the pantry and stuffed his mouth full. “Yes, I think I’ll be finished with that abstract tonight. Sensei seemed pleased with it.” _

_ “Good for you. Wish I shared your optimism.” Natsuhiko had been in a dark mood lately, and Yusuke didn’t fully understand why. _

_ “Where’s Yuto? I wanted to get his opinion on some of the colors I’m using.” _

_ “In his room, where else? I just hope he’s working instead of sulking again. Sensei’s gonna toss him out if he doesn’t produce soon.” _

_ “I hope not,” said Yusuke, quietly to himself. He probably shouldn’t be questioning Sensei’s decisions, but he missed the days when the atelier was full. The other kids in middle school tended to avoid him, so he preferred the company of Sensei’s students, who at least understood his devotion to art. _

_ “Yuto?” Yusuke knocked softly on his door. “Yuto, are you there? We can talk later if you’re busy now.” Yusuke waited for a response. “...Yuto, is something wrong?” _

_ Sensei didn’t allow them to have locks on their doors. Yusuke pushed the door open. _

_ He dropped his can of coffee on the floor. _

“...Yusuke, you okay?” Yusuke was pulled back to the present day. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get into that heavy stuff. You’ve seen some shit too, right?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Anyway, the calling card. ‘Sir Suguru Kamoshida, the utter bastard of lust.’”

Ryuji had taken out a notebook and pencil. “Yeah, I was goin’ for like, a seven deadly sins theme.”

“What happens if you run out, though?”

“That just means we’ve managed to take down seven assholes! I guess we’d decide what to do then. Now, what’s Madarame’s first name?”

“Ichiryusai.” Ryuji wrote one character, then paused, distressed. Yusuke took the notebook from him and spelled Madarame’s name out.

“Okay, so what sin would Madarame be?”

“Well, greed certainly comes to mind, and pride. However, I believe vanity may be most fitting for a man who pretends to wear rags and live in a shack merely to advance his personal brand.”

“Vanity it is! ‘Sir Ichiryusai Madarame, a great sinner of vanity who can’t paint for shit.’”

Yusuke snorted. “While amusing, perhaps something a little more formal: ‘Sir Ichiryusai Madarame, a great sinner of vanity whose talent has long been exhausted.’”

Ryuji nodded and wrote it down. “Nice, nice.”

Yusuke continued reading Kamoshida’s card. “‘We know how shitty you are, and that you put your twisted desires on students who can’t fight back.’”

“Right, we gotta call him out. How would you call out Madarame?”

“You have ruined the lives and careers of innocent students in order to fuel your desires for fame and fortune.”

“That’s pretty good,” said Ryuji, writing it down.

“‘That’s why we have decided to steal away those desires and make you confess your sins.’ Kamoshida did end up confessing his own crimes, didn’t he?”

“Yup, right at a school assembly. It was extremely awkward, but, like, in a good way. It was super weird to hear an apology coming from Kamoshida’s own mouth.”

“Hm, that’s a good way of putting it. ‘We have decided to make you confess all your crimes with your own mouth.’”

“Yeah, I like that.”

Yusuke read the last lines on the card. “‘This will be done tomorrow, so we hope you will be ready.’ How does one even prepare oneself for this?”

Ryuji shrugged. “You can’t, I guess, it’s just a saying. Maybe leave that out. I’ll just write ‘from the Phantom Thieves’.”

Yusuke took the notebook with the completed message written out and one of the blank cards Ryuji had brought with him. “Here, let me lay out how the characters will be arranged on the back.” He counted up the number of characters in the message, pulled his straight edge from his school bag, and began to quickly mark out where each letter would go. When he was finished, he slid the card back across the table. “Could you draw a bubble letter in each position? It’s fine if they’re rough, as I believe we’ve agreed to a graffiti aesthetic. I’ll take care of the background when you’re done, and in the meantime, work on a logo.”

Ryuji looked down at the card with its neatly marked grid of letters. “You’re like, super fast with this art shit. It’s impressive.”

“Thank you. Considering I’ve devoted my entire life to the pursuit of art, it would certainly be a shame if I weren’t ‘super fast’ at it.” Ryuji looked like he had just been shot. Yusuke wasn’t sure what he said wrong, but —“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothin’.” Ryuji began drawing characters inside of the guidelines on the card. “Make us a cool logo!”

Yusuke looked at the logo drawn on the front of Kamoshida’s calling card. “This is supposed to be, ah…”

“A top hat with a smile.”

“Why a top hat? None of us wear a top hat.”

“No, it’s like — Phantom Thieves.”

“Phantom Thieves wear top hats?”

“Yeah, it’s like that guy on Sailor Moon. That’s a Phantom Thief, right?”

“I don’t watch Sailor Moon.”

“That’s not —what do you think is a good symbol for Phantom Thieves, then?”

“I am unsure. A mask?” Yusuke stared at the blank page in front of him, trying to envision various logos. “Perhaps a top hat after all.”

“Dude.” Ryuji went back to filling out letters as Yusuke drew up various possibilities for a logo. Masks, top hats, gloves, guns, swords, treasure, flames…

“All done!” Ryuji put down his pencil. “Whoa, that’s a lot of designs.”

“Which one do you favor?”

“Hmm… I like that one.” Ryuji pointed out a top hat, slightly tilted, with a stylized flame underneath. “That’s a really cool logo. It’d look sweet on a t-shirt.”

“Is that the criteria we’re attempting to fulfill?”

“Well, no. But man, imagine if we could get awesome matching Phantom Thieves shirts.”

“That seems to go against the concept of having a secret identity.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Ryuji slid the card to Yusuke. “Here, put the logo on the front, then I’ll do a background and color it.”

* * *

 

RYUJI: mission accomplished!

REN: You finished the calling card?

YUSUKE: Indeed. It is truly a Sakamoto/Kitagawa production.

RYUJI: did you put my name first to be nice or because you hate it

YUSUKE: If I hated it, I would not put my name on it at all.

RYUJI: fair

ANN: i bet it looks super cool

REN: So the plan is for Morgana to deliver the card to the gallery tomorrow

REN: That way, none of us are implicated.

YUSUKE: I’ll be helping with the exhibition so I can see when he recieves the card.

REN: Right, and then you need to immediately leave the gallery and meet up with us at the shack

REN: Because nothing can stop this heart stealing train

REN: …assuming we’re all ready

RYUJI: dude i am always ready to kick the ass of shitbag adults

ANN: same!!!

YUSUKE: I am more than ready.

REN: Last chance to back out, Yusuke

REN: The calling card only works once so you have to be really sure

YUSUKE: I assure you that my mind is made up.

YUSUKE: For the students whose futures he stole, and to prevent him from harming more students in the future.

ANN: and for you too!

YUSUKE: Yeeeeejffiocdn

RYUJI: wtf

ANN: did yusuke just die

REN: Yusuke, you need to tell us if you died

YUSUKE: My apologies. I fell asleep on my phone.

ANN: omg go to bed!

YUSUKE: I must get some painting done first.

REN: We’re probably going to spend tomorrow fighting the surreal cognitive version of your lifelong teacher

REN: It’s going to take a lot of energy

REN: So if you don’t go to bed soon and get enough sleep I will personally go over there and kick your ass

YUSUKE: Understood.


	11. The true Sayuri.

“Those knots better hold. I don’t wanna end up stranded down there.”

“I assure you, I’ve checked the knots twice and I could not possibly make them tighter.”

Fox had just finished tying Mona to the crane suspended above the treasure. Assuming everything went smoothly, which seemed like a poor assumption, they were minutes away from stealing Sensei’s heart and irrevocably altering the course of both their lives.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” said Mona.”Give Skull the signal!”

Fox hesitated.

_You already made up your mind. You already agreed to this. You can’t back out now._

_Based on their descriptions of Kamoshida, you’re about to effectively lobotomize the man who raised you._

_He’s going to ruin both your education and your career. You heard it straight from him. He left you with no choice._

_Maybe you deserve it, though._

_Even if that is so, the other students did not deserve their fates._

_But if you had been faster — smarter — less lazy — more talented — if you had supported the other students more — if you had told the social worker —_

_If you had been better._

_Could this have turned out differently?_

“Hey, are you gonna give the signal?”

Fox turned to the maintenance room where Skull was standing by the crane controls and lifted his hand, sealing at least one fate.

Everything happened in a blur. Skull dropped Mona downwards as Panther killed the lights. When the lights came on again, Mona was back to his original position with the treasure in tow. Fox sliced the ropes holding him to the crane and they ran, ran back into the maintenance room and down the stairs, ran through the control room where they were joined by Joker and Panther, back through the cognitive trap as Fox hastily picked out the painting styles, in and out of paintings, through the gallery…

Mona was making increasingly strange noises as they ran along. “Is the treasure too heavy for you? Do you need someone else to take it?”

Mona looked at Fox, and his eyes were wide and possessed. “Treasure… I have to see it…”

“You can wait, Mona! We have to get out of here!” said Panther.

It was too late. Mona dropped back as he unwrapped the cloth containing the treasure, which was obviously shaped like a painting…

“It’s a joke! Guys!” Mona held up the fake “painting” —nothing more than a child’s scribble — and jumped up and down. “This isn’t a real Treasure! We have to go back!”

The team stopped dead and whipped around. There was Sense’s Shadow, a mocking laugh on his lips. “Looking for this?” A security guard Shadow at his side lifted the _Sayuri._ The real _Sayuri,_ because of course that’s what the treasure was. The painting style was unmistakable, even if this particular _Sayuri_ had a glaring difference from the one Fox had been studying his entire life.

Like the _Mona Lisa,_ the _Sayuri_ was renowned for the mystery in the woman’s expression. She was looking with fondness at the bottom corner, but whatever had been in that corner was covered up with swaths of gray.

Sensei’s treasure finally revealed what the woman had been looking at. A baby. And Fox understood.

“Mom?”

Sensei smiled. “You’re perceptive when you want to be. Yes, this painting is of your mother.”

“It’s not just _of_ her — she painted this! You stole it from her!”

“She gave it to me freely, just as you have done for years.”

“Liar!”  Icicles were stabbing him through the heart, aching to free themselves from his soul.

Sensei just shrugged. “She has no idea how to market herself. She didn’t even want to part with it originally. I did her a favor.”

“I don’t believe for one moment that she would have given a work that is clearly this personal for you to _market._ Either you forced her to give you the painting, or…”

“She suffered from serious medical problems. When I found her collapsed on the floor, well -- no one blamed me for being too slow to call the hospital. It was only a matter of time, regardless of my actions.”

“You let her die?! You allowed her to die so you could steal her painting?” He couldn’t hold the ice back any longer.

“Murderer!” Enormous, jagged ice spires sprang forth and flew towards his Sensei. Joker calling out “Fox, stop!”was the only thing he could hear over the blood rushing to his ears.

Sensei was pinned to the wall by ice, and had a nasty, bleeding gash in his torso, but was very much still alive. And laughing. “You remind me exactly of her, Yusuke. Immensely talented, but weak and easily controlled. Even now, the only reason you’re defying me is because you’ve been listening to these new so-called friends. They’ll leave you as soon as they get whatever they want from you. Think twice before you destroy your future because your eye landed on _some boy_.”

Fox’s face turned hot with anger and shame. He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t find the words. Within him, Goemon was howling with rage and building up another torrent of ice.

“You’re a fucking liar,” said Joker, voice just steady enough to momentarily still the ice in Fox’s heart. “All you do is steal his shit and hold him back. But what will you do? You have no talent, no students, and soon you’re gonna have to live with the guilt from the lives you destroyed.”

Fox nodded at Joker, wrangling his ice back under control. “Thank you.”

Shadow Sensei glared at Fox. “If that is your decision, so be it. You will die here with your worthless friends!”

Sensei’s face warped and distorted as he burst forth from the wall where he was pinned and turned into… a bunch of floating paintings?

Panther looked perplexed. “I… guess that makes sense? It’s less gross than Kamoshida, anyway.”

Skull put a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Y’know, after what he said, I’m real glad I’m gonna get to smack this guy in the face with a pipe.”

“Yes, I feel the same.”

“Let’s kick his ass, then.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Of course, the very first thing Sensei’s Shadow did was shoot fire at Fox from his _nose_ , knocking him flat on the ground, followed by _biting_ Panther with his grotesque painting-mouth. Panther looked distressed. “Never mind what I said about Kamoshida, this is pretty gross too.”

“Guys, buffs!” called out Joker. Fox stood up and dutifully cast his agility buff on Joker. “No, cast it on yourself, or he’s gonna keep hitting you with fire.” Fox did so, just in time to dodge another spell thrown his way.

Mona cast wind on the Shadow’s eyes, but instead of recoiling from damage, the Shadow seemed to absorb the magic into itself with a sickening draining noise. “Parts of this thing are immune to magic! Use your weapons!”

Fox hesitated for only the briefest of moments before charging his Sensei, or the monster that used to be his Sensei, with his cheap mall sword. _This is insane. Completely and utterly mad. There’s a high probability that I’m hallucinating this entire scenario while in real life I’m babbling quietly in my room at a mental institution._ Despite his misgivings, the dull blade of the prop katana sliced neatly across Sensei’s nose-painting, which went clattering to the floor. “Nice!” said Skull, who was simultaneously bashing one of Sensei’s eyes with his lead pipe.

Several minutes of feverish slashing and dodging later, all of the paintings that formed Sensei’s face had fallen. They melted, pooled and reformed into Sensei’s original Shadow. Joker pulled his gun and signaled the rest of the team to follow his lead, surrounding Sensei with weapons drawn and aimed.

“Yusuke —“ Sensei reached in his direction.

“Do not move a muscle,” said Fox, tightening his grip on his rifle.

“Are you ready to surrender?” asked Joker.

“Surrender? Ha!” Sensei melted into a puddle and a new set of paintings rose up.

Joker facepalmed. Ryuji released a loud, exasperated groan that echoed off the museum walls. Morgana said, “You know we’re just gonna beat you again, right?”

Fox said and did nothing because Sensei’s painting eyes were fixed on him with malevolent intent, and he was bracing himself to dodge the flames that were headed his way. So he was quite surprised when he found himself completely drenched in foul smelling, oily black paint that came out of nowhere, leaving him with a sticky sheen and many, many questions. Starting with: “Where did that paint come from?!”

“Oh, that's nasty,” said Ann, cracking her whip against Sensei’s nose. “Are you okay?”

“Define ‘okay.’” The sticky paint was hindering Fox’s ability to move, and a second later he was swept off his feet by a _wind_ attack, which was new. As he scrambled to stand, Joker landed next to him with a thud — he had also been the recipient of a new coat of paint.

Joker pushed dripping, greasy hair out of his eyes. “Your former Sensei _fucking sucks,_ Fox.”

“I realize that, yes,” said Fox, reaching down a hand and pulling Joker to his feet.

Sensei was momentarily distracted by Skull and Panther landing flurries of blows to his eyes. “We need to do something about that paint. Let me see…” His eyes briefly turned yellow as he focused the way he did when he was scanning for hidden treasure. “There it is. Behind that planter. I’ll help distract him. You hit him with his own medicine.”

“Why me?”

“It’s paint. That’s your thing, right? Go!”

Fox was going to protest that his particular painting skills didn’t really apply, but Joker was already back in the fray. Checking to make sure Sensei wasn’t looking, he dove behind the planter and grabbed the bucket of black paint. He needed to wait for the right opening to dump it on Sensei without hitting any of his teammates, but the chaotic fight wasn’t giving him good opportunities to do so.

But then the painted mouth managed a solid hit to Mona, sending him skidding across the floor and into the wall, and Skull was knocked dizzy by a wind spell, and Fox realized that waiting for the right moment ran the risk of his teammates dying first. He sprinted across the room with the paint bucket, using his height to slam it over all four paintings, covering both them and him with the noxious paint. As if on cue, Panther cast mass fire, sending the frames spiraling to the ground. Once more, the paintings melted and Sensei assumed his original Shadow form -- although this time he was in much worse shape, golden robes torn and smeared with black, hunched over on the floor.

Once again, they surrounded him with guns drawn. “You finally ready to give up?” asked Joker.

“Yes, yes, just please don’t kill me!” Sensei displayed no trace of his Shadow self’s former arrogance as he groveled.

“We’re not here to kill you. We’re here to take your treasure.”

“Got it!” said Mona, nabbing the true _Sayuri_ from the hands of a nearby security guard and handing it to Fox. “I think you should have this.”

“ _Sayuri…”_ Fox touched the part of the painting that had always been covered in swirls of gray, the baby that Sensei had painted over long ago. “You let my mother die for this.”

“I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!”

Fox ignored his pleas. “You erased me from the painting to stage it. Why even take me in? Why not just leave me to be a ward of the state?”

Sensei looked at him with fear in his eyes. “Guilt. And fear. I thought if I let you go -- someday you’d find out what I’d done and you’d come for me. I thought it would be safer to have you under my thumb. You’d grow to respect and fear me and never turn against me. But you were so -- even as a child, you were so unusual, and I never knew what to do with you -- I did _try,_ I swear I did — Yusuke, please, don’t kill me -- “

Sensei was groveling at his feet, now, and it brought him no pleasure to see him do so, only disgust and regret. “You need to return to the real world and confess all your crimes.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Swear it!”

“I swear! But what about the other one? The one in the black mask?”

“Black mask?” Fox looked at the team, who seemed equally baffled.

“Someone else was in this Palace? Another Metaverse user?” said Mona. “I thought we were the only ones.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but it does seem a bit naive to assume we’re the only ones who know about all this,” said Joker, sticking his hands in his pockets.

The ground rumbled dangerously beneath them. “This Palace is going to collapse! We need to go now!” Mona turned into a van, and the team climbed aboard.

“Yusuke, _please,”_ Sensei begged pitifully. “What should I do? Tell me, what should I do now?”

“Apart from confess your crimes? I’d say you need to improve your brushwork. Your counterfeit _Sayuris_ were barely passable.”

Fox could hear Sensei -- just Madarame now, he supposed -- calling his name as the van exited the Metaverse.

* * *

 

They tumbled out of the Metaverse, Madarame’s Palace disappearing forever behind them, the only remaining remnant safely in Yusuke’s hands. After a brief discussion they decided to relocate to Shibuya Station, as it _probably_ wasn’t a great idea for them all to be casually hanging around outside of the atelier just after pulling off a heist. Yusuke couldn’t help but stare at the true _Sayuri_ all the way there.

“So that’s your mom?” said Ryuji, taking a large gulp of his energy drink.

“It would appear so, yes. I was so young when she died that I don’t remember her face -- but the emotions I felt when I first beheld this painting were real. Her image must have rested somewhere in my subconscious.”

Ann smiled. “It’s a great painting. I’m glad you have it now.”

“Unfortunately, even if Madarame does confess his crimes, I don’t think this painting can be shown publicly any more. After all, the so-called ‘real’ _Sayuri_ still exists in his storage room, a fact which will likely come to light if he does indeed confess everything. It’s just as well though, as I have no desire to part with it.”

Ryuji jumped to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Aren’t ya glad you teamed up with us?”

Yusuke looked down at the painting in his hands. He hadn’t even begun to fully process the events of the last week or so, but one thing was certain -- he no longer felt dead inside, and that was a good start.

“Yes, I am quite glad.”

“Once Madarame confesses, we’re going to have to start looking for another target. Preferably another big name. You’re still in, right? Or were you just here for Madarame?” Ren’s expression was as unreadable as ever.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why you persisted so long in attempting to help me, even as I pushed you away.”  Yusuke smiled. “I would like to give other people the same second chance that I received, if you’ll allow me to.”

Ren grinned — not his Phantom Thief smile, full of mischief, but a real, honest smile. “Of course.”

“I also expect it will provide excellent inspiration for my future artwork.”

“Haha, you really are always thinkin’ about art,” said Ryuji.

Morgana’s eyes were shining. “That’s five Persona users! We can do anything! Still, though, I’m worried about that black mask that Madarame mentioned. If there are more Persona users out there meddling with Palaces, that could be bad.”

“Maybe they’d be changing hearts, same as us?” Ann twirled her hair.

“I don’t know about that,” said Ren. “There doesn’t seem to be any other changes of heart other than Kamoshida. Either they just don’t know how, or they’re after something else. Yusuke, do you know of anyone associated with Madarame that might be a culprit?”

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult to say. Madarame has many associates — other artists and wealthy patrons, primarily — and he does not share much information with me. I suppose I could try asking him after he has a change of heart… When is that likely to happen?”

“We’re not sure. Mementos targets only seem to take about a day —“ — which matched Yusuke’s own experience — “— but Kamoshida was out of school for several days after we stole his heart, before he confessed at the school assembly. We’re going to be counting on you to report any changes with him, okay?”

Yusuke remembered what it was like when he had had his heart changed, although he didn’t realize it at the time, and wondered if Madarame would be the same. Considering the circumstances, things were likely to be different with him. For the thousandth time that day, Yusuke hoped he had done the right thing.

It was only on the train on the way home he remembered that Sensei’s Shadow had basically inadvertently outed his romantic preferences. His face turned warm and pink thinking of it. Either the others had missed it entirely -- which would be understandable, given the pressing circumstances at the time -- or they did notice and were willing to accept him into their group regardless. He desperately hoped it was the latter.

* * *

 

Yusuke entered the atelier as quietly as possible, unsure of what he would find. Madarame was not in any of the common areas; the door to his room was closed and Yusuke thought he heard a soft noise from behind it. That was just as well. Changed heart or no, Yusuke was in no state to deal with his former Sensei. The adrenaline from the frantic Persona battle had worn off, leaving him feeling as though both body and mind were made of melting clay.

The nearly finished painting of ice crystals greeted him as he entered his room. He certainly wasn’t going to get any work done on it tonight, and, regardless of the heist’s ultimate outcome, the original deadline didn’t matter any more.

He dreamed of a dark tunnel filling with water, waves endlessly beating him back as he tried to swim free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far!


	12. Halfway across the world.

Yusuke woke in the morning and prepared for school as usual. The primary difference between this and any other day was the constant drumbeat in his mind:  _ change of heart change of heart change of heart. _ It was almost impossible to concentrate in class.

When he arrived home from school, Madarame was still nowhere to be seen. Yusuke stood outside of his closed bedroom door, wondering what he should do.

_ He’s supposed to confess his crimes, correct? That’s what I told his Shadow to do just before his Palace collapsed, and that’s what happened with the high school teacher. Surely there’s no chance he would do something more… drastic. _

Still, the thought haunted him, and he had also promised he would ask Madarame about the black mask, even though he wasn’t quite sure how to approach the topic without mentioning the Metaverse.

He really should check in on Sensei.

Yusuke stood outside the door for a solid five minutes as he worked up the nerve to knock, and when he finally did, there was no answer.

Perhaps he simply was not here?

He tried the door, finding it unlocked, and slid it open a crack. This elicited a response from within: “Who’s there? Yusuke?”

“My apologies, Sensei,” he said, falling easily into his usual patterns before he could even think otherwise. “You haven’t left your room for some time and I was concerned you may have taken ill.”

As he spoke, he dared open the door far enough to get a look inside. Madarame was in bed, looking around twenty years older than he had seemed a few days ago. His sharp eyes, quick to turn from congeniality to anger, were glassy and far away. Red-rimmed, as well, almost as if he had been crying.

“Ah -- yes, I have been feeling somewhat under the weather.” His thousand yard stare seemed to look straight past Yusuke to something else. “Was there something you had asked me to do…?”

Yusuke’s heart pounded in his chest. Was this it? If it was like his own prior experience, he would remember on his own what he was supposed to do. “No, there wasn’t anything at the moment, although I did have a question I needed to ask you.”

Madarame nodded almost imperceptibly. In this state, he didn’t seem particularly able to hold a conversation, and there was the additional problem of tactfully bringing up the black mask without exposing the Metaverse. Still, he had promised to try.

“Sensei, has there been anyone unusual among your associates lately? Anyone acting particularly strangely?”

“Strange…? No. Why are you asking?”

“I saw something on the news about a person in a black mask that had been stealing from art galleries. I was wondering if you had heard anything about it.” A terrible lie, but thankfully Madarame was not at his usual levels of perceptiveness at the moment.

“A person in a black mask? No, I haven’t heard that.”

That was what he had expected. “Is there anything I can get for you? A glass of water, a bowl of soup?” He realized with a twinge of guilt that even the knowledge that Madarame had watched his mother die was not enough to avert years of ingrained behavior.

“No, I’ll be fine. Please leave me be.” Yusuke nodded and shut the door.

YUSUKE: I just talked to Sensei.

YUSUKE: Madarame.

YUSUKE: I believe he may be in the first stages of his change of heart.

ANN: oh nice!!

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, he did not seem to have any information about the man in the black mask.

ANN: too bad :(

REN: That’s about what I expected, but thanks for asking

RYUJI: man it’s gonna be hard to find info on this guy

ANN: i wonder if they know about us too…

REN: When they see that Madarame’s Palace is gone and Madarame had a change of heart, they’ll definitely know there’s someone else in the Metaverse if they don’t already

REN: So we’re gonna have to be careful

REN: Morgana says “especially you, Ryuji.”

RYUJI: tell morgana to shut it

 

* * *

 

Much later that night, Yusuke was putting the finishing touches on his painting of ice crystals. The repetitive geometric shapes were ideal for directing his focus on to the task at hand and away from the swirling maelstrom of everything else happening in his life.

He was startled by his phone buzzing. He picked it up and checked the time. 2am. An emergency?

REN: Hey

YUSUKE: Hello.

REN: Hope I didn’t wake you up

YUSUKE: Not at all.

REN: Cool, I kind of figured you’d be the kind of person who’s up at stupid o’clock at night

YUSUKE: That is accurate, yes.

YUSUKE: Is there some problem?

REN: Absolutely

REN: Morgana keeps insisting we need to go to bed at a reasonable hour, then sleeps right on top of me so I can’t sneak out of bed and play video games

YUSUKE: That’s the problem?

REN: Are you not taking this seriously

REN: How would you feel if Morgana forced you to go to bed early and then ate your paintbrush so you couldn’t art

YUSUKE: Morgana would likely die if he ate a paintbrush so I wouldn’t have that problem more than once.

REN: True

REN: Are you actually doing an art, I just kind of assumed

YUSUKE: That is an exceedingly safe assumption.

REN: Oh shit I probably interrupted your art flow or whatever

YUSUKE: You did not. I’m merely putting the last touches on a painting that is close to completion

REN: Oh cool

REN: Can I see it

YUSUKE: Right now?

REN: Take a picture

Yusuke took a deep breath. He was filled with both the intense desire to show Ren the fruit of his hands and anxiety that he would judge it harshly. Nevertheless, he took the picture and sent it.

REN: Holy crap

REN: You painted that?

YUSUKE: Yes.

REN: You weren’t kidding about being a serious artist

YUSUKE: Were you under the impression that I was?

REN: Not exactly

REN: When I tried to get you to show me something you painted last week, you were super evasive about it

YUSUKE: Oh, yes, I remember. All of my best paintings are under Madarame’s name, so I couldn’t show you those.

REN: That makes sense, I had wondered if it was something like that

REN: Wait, so does that mean a bunch of your paintings are in museums?

YUSUKE: Most were purchased by private buyers, but some are in museums, yes.

REN: Can I see one

YUSUKE: One…?

REN: One of your paintings that’s in a museum

Buoyed by Ren’s previous reaction, Yusuke frantically scrolled through his pictures of Madarame’s previous exhibits to pick the best painting to show him. Many of his most technically accomplished paintings were his later ones, which were mainly focused on unhappy themes, which wasn’t exactly the face he wished to show Ren. He wished that he had painted more beautiful and joyful subjects but knew quite well why he generally hadn’t. Perhaps that could change.

His thumb stopped over one of his recent favorites. It was a loose, somewhat impressionist painting of an island in the middle of the ocean, bathed in sun, but with dark clouds gathering in the distance. At the time he had painted it he had been quite used to Madarame taking his art, but this one in particular still stung.

REN: That’s really cool

REN: I like the way you did the waves in the ocean

REN: It looks lonely though

YUSUKE: Perhaps. It’s more about solitude than loneliness.

REN: So this one is in a museum

YUSUKE: I believe it was sold to a museum in Germany, although I suppose it could be anywhere now.

REN: Kind of crazy to think that people in Germany could be looking at your painting right now

YUSUKE: I hope that is the case.

REN: Maybe when Madarame confesses they’ll put the correct name on it too

YUSUKE: Art is its own reward. I don’t require the recognition of a museum.

REN: That sure sounds like some bullshit Madarame said while stealing from you

YUSUKE: It is not entirely incorrect. Many of the best artists toiled in obscurity and poverty.

REN: Regardless of things you may have heard from shameless assholes, it’s okay to want money and recognition

YUSUKE: I suppose, but it’s also crucial to not allow such base desires to affect the purity of your art.

REN: You know what, it is too late to argue with you about this

REN: So I’m just gonna add “convince Yusuke it’s okay to not die for your art” to my to-do list and call it a night

YUSUKE: I am not going to die.

REN: Adding some underlines and exclamation points

YUSUKE: How about you? You are also up extremely late. Is anything wrong?

REN: Of course not

YUSUKE: That isn’t terribly convincing.

REN: I should probably get to bed for real though

YUSUKE: That is even less convincing.

YUSUKE: While I admit that I am not the best at providing advice or comfort, I would be more than willing to hear you out if there is something on your mind.

REN: I appreciate that, but it’s seriously past 2am now

REN: You should go to bed too

YUSUKE: Your evasive maneuver is not subtle.

REN: Nope!

YUSUKE: You can be quite stubborn, you realize.

REN: We have that in common

REN: Good night

YUSUKE: Good night to you as well.


	13. A Mondrian with crooked lines.

Yusuke was in the middle of drawing class when his phone started vibrating nearly out of his pocket. The first day that had happened -- the day after he awakened his Persona -- it had been startling, and every time his phone buzzed he immediately checked it, concerned that something may require his immediate attention. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that a solid ninety percent or more of the messages his new friends sent during school hours were not, in fact, urgent. At the very least, he did not consider Ryuji’s complaints about homework or Ann and Ren’s back-and-forth banter about some of their more eccentric teachers to be an emergency. He had learned to ignore it until he had a free moment to respond.

Two of his nearby classmates had stopped working on the day’s assignment and were watching a video surreptitiously. That was also an ordinary occurrence that he was accustomed to ignoring. What  _ was _ a bit unusual was that they kept stealing glances back at him.

His phone kept buzzing insistently. Yusuke sighed and gave in.

RYUJI: holy shit you guys

RYUJI: it happened

ANN: what happened???

RYUJI: madarame’s on live tv confessing his crimes

REN: Are you serious

RYUJI: hell yeah i’m serious

RYUJI: the video’s all over, look it up for yourself

REN: Found it

REN: Holy shit

ANN: omg!!

ANN: where’s yusuke???

Yusuke was staring at his phone in disbelief.

Even after all that work, even after seeing for himself Madarame’s Palace and his Shadow, even after seeing Madarame’s unusual disposition the other day… some part of him didn’t actually believe the change of heart would truly happen. That part of him was still planning how he would complete his required paintings by the deadline and bracing himself for the possibility that Sensei was going to have him removed from school. He had made his share of contingency plans for what would happen if the change of heart failed; he hadn’t actually made any plans for  _ success _ .

Now, he didn’t even know where he should start.

YUSUKE: I take it from the current conversation that the change of heart has taken place.

ANN: yusuke!

RYUJI: hell yeah it did!!!

RYUJI: we did it!

REN: Have you seen the video

YUSUKE: I have not, but I will be sure to watch it later.

RYUJI: that is our second heist as phantom thieves

RYUJI: people gotta pay attention to us now!!!

ANN: this isn’t just about people paying us attention!

ANN: this is about helping people

RYUJI: well we did that too didnt we :D

YUSUKE: We did.

REN: Is everything okay Yusuke?

YUSUKE: To be completely honest, I don’t think I’ve fully processed this yet.

YUSUKE: I am pleased that he change of heart worked, but I may need some time to think about what has transpired.

ANN: i understand

ANN: i was happy when kamoshida confessed, but it was also complicated

ANN: like it was a good thing, but it also didn’t erase what he did to shiho, y’know

REN: Makes sense

RYUJI: i guess yeah

RYUJI: i mean tbh i was just happy when kamoshida confessed

RYUJI: but i can kind of see where you guys are coming from

ANN: i do think we gotta celebrate though

ANN: our second successful job and our new team member!

REN: We should, yeah

REN: Let’s plan something a few days from now

RYUJI: cool

YUSUKE: That sounds like a good idea.

* * *

 

Arriving to an empty house after school was certainly not unusual, but today the emptiness had taken on a much different quality with the knowledge that Madarame had been taken into police custody that afternoon. As Yusuke stood in the empty kitchen, the primary thought beating against his brain was quite simply  _ now what? _

He couldn’t help but think back to his childhood, when things had been better, back when the atelier held four or five students at a time, back when the students had been full of life and hope and not yet had their dreams ground into the dust. When they laughed around the kitchen table and painted murals on the walls, when the older kids brought him home candy and let him borrow their manga. When there were no deadlines or pressure, just a pad of thick paper and a box of worn crayons.

Those days were gone forever. Realistically, they had been gone forever long before Yusuke had joined the Phantom Thieves, but it had been such a gradual decline that Yusuke hadn’t fully realized it until Nakanohara left and he had become the last student. Now, the change of heart had slammed the door permanently on his previous life, and he wasn’t at all sure what he was going to replace it with.

There was money on the kitchen table, left with a note. Yusuke didn’t dare touch it. He thought of Ren’s words the other night, that it was okay to desire money -- but still.

The door to Madarame’s room was slightly ajar. Yusuke pushed it open carefully, not understanding why he was doing it or what he expected to see. Madarame’s room looked more or less like it always had.

A painting on the wall caught his eye.

_ “What are you looking at, Yusuke?” asked Sensei. _

_ Yusuke was sprawled out on the floor with one of Sensei’s art books. “This one,” he said, pointing at one of Piet Mondrian’s classic compositions. “It’s interesting. It’s different from all the rest.” His eyes deepened with thought as he examined the painting. “I wonder if I could paint something like this.” _

_ “Why don’t you try?” asked Sensei. _

_ At that, Yusuke grabbed the book and practically ran down the hall, eager both to try something new and to please his teacher. He began using a straightedge to map out exactly where he would paint the grid of black lines on the canvas, but soon realized his mistake -- he was creating an even grid, where all the rectangles were the same size, and the painting he was trying to emulate had varied sizes of rectangle. He erased his lines and tried again, torn by indecision over exactly what the grid should look like. _

_ Adding the bright primary colors brought new challenges -- creating exactly the colors he wanted (especially since he was running very low on the blue that was the closest match and didn’t want to use much of it), and deciding which squares to color. Finally, he added a red field near the center, two yellow fields on the outer edges, and a very small blue field in the upper right corner. _

_ He was finished, but he wasn’t satisfied. Something about it wasn’t quite right, wasn’t quite what he had envisioned. _

_ Sensei appeared over his shoulder. “Was it harder than it looked?” _

Even standing in the doorway of Madarame’s bedroom, he could see that the black lines were slightly crooked and the color fields weren’t filled in evenly.

He couldn’t stay in the atelier.


	14. An ordinary painting of the ocean.

“So, Kitagawa.” The principal had fixed his disapproving gaze on the paperwork his assistant had fetched from the student records. “You are correct -- your scholarship does indeed include a room in the dormitory. However, it will take us several days to have a room prepared for you.”

“Several days?” Yusuke was beginning to get the distinct impression that the principal was purposefully being less helpful than he could be. He hadn’t interacted with the principal at any great length before, but he was generally in good standing with his teachers. When he visited the administrative office to ask after his scholarship benefits, he hadn’t expected such an obviously chilly reception.

“Yes, several days. This is all routine procedure. I assume whoever you’re staying with now will do for a while longer?”

Yusuke wasn’t staying with anyone and definitely did not want to return to the atelier after his restless night, but didn’t care to tell the principal that. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, as you expected, you are entitled to a small stipend for living expenses and school supplies. This stipend is currently being deposited into your guardian’s bank account. If you’d like it transferred elsewhere, you’ll need to have him sign this form.”

Yusuke blinked. “Well… you saw the news, correct? My  _ guardian _ is in police custody.”

“Yes, of course I saw. A terrible business,” he said, with eyes that held no sympathy. “I suspect one of his former students blackmailed him into confessing. I expect you’ll be testifying as to his good character in his trial?”

Yusuke was blindsided. He could feel the ice rising in his gut. “No. I’m unlikely to do that,” he said, firmly, not wishing to elaborate any further.

The principal’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. I take it you had a hand in this, then.” Yusuke suddenly understood why his presence in the administrative office seemed less than welcome. The principal leaned over his desk. “Let me give you this advice, Kitagawa. You have a great deal of talent, but talent only gets you so far. You should be very cautious about the bridges you burn if you want to have a successful career.”

For a brief moment, Yusuke imagined what he could do if he had access to his Persona or his sword in the real world, then pushed it aside, feeling a twinge of shame at his violent daydream. Inside him, Goemon rumbled:  _ He understands nothing. _

Yusuke snatched the form from the principal’s desk while he still had his anger under control. “So you’ll need this signed, correct? I’ll see when there are visiting hours. Thank you, Principal.”

The principal waved him off. “Take care, Kitagawa.”

* * *

So that was how Yusuke found himself in the waiting room of a police station medical ward. It was the place they sent people who were under arrest but whose health was in question. Madarame had no major health issues that Yusuke knew of, but his advanced age and hysterical breakdown had likely made the police cautious.

He nervously fidgeted with the keys on his belt, while scanning the room for anything of artistic merit that he could focus on. He was certain that other artists could have made an intriguing piece out of the dingy waiting area. If he were in a better frame of mind, he probably could, himself.

He considered texting his friends to pass the time. Apart from the fact that the idea that he now had friends hadn’t quite fully settled, he didn’t want to tell them where he was or what he was doing.

He could just abandon this notion entirely and get a part time job instead, but he kept recalling Ren’s conversation from the other night -- he did need money to live, after all, and the money was rightfully his. Besides, the stipend was so meager that he would likely have to find a part time job anyway if he wanted to keep himself in both food and supplies of reasonable quality.

On that train of thought, his name was called and he was taken to a room where Madarame was waiting behind a glass partition.

“Yusuke,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” Yusuke said honestly.

It was almost difficult to be angry with him. The pathetic, diminished old man in prison garb bore little resemblance to the arrogant Shadow in gold robes who bragged about exploiting his students like livestock. Still, they were one and the same -- and  _ that _ might make an excellent basis for a piece of art one day, if he found the fortitude to paint it.

“If you’ve come to admonish me, I understand. You’re entitled to that. I don’t believe I can ever earn your forgiveness.”

Yusuke shook his head. “I didn’t come here for that.”

“Admonishment, or forgiveness?”

“Either. Perhaps some other time.”

“Perhaps some other time.” Madarame looked at the floor.

“To be quite frank, I came here primarily for this.” Yusuke held up the form the principal had given him. “I’m moving out of the atelier into the Kosei dorms, and I need the stipend from my scholarship transferred into my name.”

“Yes, of course. If you ask the officer to bring it around, I’ll sign it for you.”

The paper was wordlessly transferred from Yusuke to officer to Madarame to officer to Yusuke, who checked the signature, folded it up and placed it safely in his school bag.

“Was there anything else?” Madarame asked.

“No,” said Yusuke, standing up to leave.

“Yusuke--” He turned around before he could think twice. Madarame opened and closed his mouth as though he couldn’t decide what to say. “I’m sorry. For everything. I mean that.”

Yusuke nodded. “Thank you.”

* * *

It didn’t take Yusuke long to pack everything he needed when he returned to the atelier. He had a case for his paints and art supplies, and crammed the things that didn’t fit into his overstuffed schoolbag. He didn’t have many clothes or other personal possessions, so they mostly all fit inside the modest suitcase he had used on the few occasions when he traveled. Regrettably, he couldn’t carry all his art books, but hopefully he could come back for them later.

Even with the necessary forms signed, the principal had informed him that it would be several days until his dorm room was ready. He didn’t really have any place to go, but he couldn’t bear to stay in the atelier. Thankfully, the key to his school’s nicest painting studio jangled at his waist, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept there to avoid going home.

When everything else was packed, he fetched a protective painting wrap from a spare room and carefully packed up the  _ Sayuri _ , attaching it to his suitcase with cords, along with a few spare canvases and his easel. He left his painting of ice crystals behind, propped up against the wall. Satisfied, he left the atelier with an air of finality, despite knowing that he would probably need to be back, for those last few possessions if nothing else.

The studio was predictably dark and devoid of students at this hour. He sat near the window and set up a blank canvas. No longer was it taunting him -- tonight, he had a swirling kaleidoscope of ideas in his head, and the only question was which to paint first.

Something he could show Ren. Something that would make him smile.

He began filling in the canvas with a fairly straightforward sunny beach scene. He could practically hear Madarame’s disapproval radiating from behind his shoulder:  _ This pedestrian subject is not going to be suitable for my next exhibition, Yusuke. _

_ It’s not for you, _ he said to himself with a smile on his face, mixing a jewel-like blue-green color for the ocean, imagining the feel of the warm sun and the smell of the sea breeze.


	15. A rough sketch of a bustling restaurant.

A hand on his shoulder. “Kitagawa.”

When Yusuke opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his mostly-finished painting of a gorgeous sunny beach. He had fallen asleep in a chair at some late hour and now the morning sun was streaming through the windows, Kosei’s foremost painting instructor standing nearby. He was often stern and critical, but much gentler than Madarame had been. How well he liked you seemed to be strictly correlated with how seriously you took his lessons and how hard you worked in class, so Yusuke was particularly favored. He was the one who had provided Yusuke with the key to the studio so he could use it after hours.

“I see you were getting some work done,” Sensei said, casting an appraising eye over the painting. “This is a very straightforward subject matter coming from you.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Yusuke in no way felt like justifying his latest creation to anyone.

“Good,” said Sensei, surprising Yusuke. “Not every piece needs to be groundbreaking or avant garde. It’s healthy to paint something straightforward if that’s where your inspiration takes you. In terms of criticism, the main thing that jumps out at me is that the bold color you’re using for the ocean seems out of place with the more muted colors of the rest of the landscape. We could perhaps discuss that more later. Overall, though, I think this is a very strong painting.”

“Thank you, Sensei.” Yusuke yawned and stretched.

“Is everything okay? I know this has probably been a rough time -- we all saw the news.”

“Oh -- yes. It’s fine.”

Sensei looked concerned, and gave Yusuke’s suitcase a significant glance, but didn’t pursue the matter further. “All right, Kitagawa. I need to prepare for class -- I assume you do too. Why don’t you go get some breakfast and let me set up here?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Yusuke still had some of the money Madarame had given him, and he would hopefully soon be getting his meager stipend, so he could probably spare some money for bread and coffee from a nearby convenience store. His phone buzzed as he was leaving the school.

ANN: so about that celebration!

RYUJI: oh yeah, we need to do something fun

YUSUKE: To celebrate the successful change of heart?

ANN: yeah! also new teammate :p

ANN: last time we went to a buffet and it was awesome

YUSUKE: That seems like a suitable celebration.

YUSUKE: I would very much like to go to a buffet.

REN: Unfortunately I don’t think we can

REN: The buffet was expensive

REN: Last time we paid for it by selling the replica gold medal from Kamoshida’s palace

REN: We got some treasures this time that sold for an okay amount, but not a pricey buffet amount

YUSUKE: I see

ANN: sorry ren, i know you were looking forward to feeding the starving artist

REN: Ann. Shut.

REN: Also we’re absolutely still feeding the starving artist, just with cheaper food

YUSUKE: I am not a starving artist.

RYUJI: so you dont want to go get food for the celebration??

YUSUKE: I most certainly did not say that.

RYUJI: haha

YUSUKE: At any rate, cheaper food is completely acceptable.

REN: I was thinking dim sum

REN: Cheap and communal

RYUJI: hell yeah im in

ANN: custard buuuuuuuns :D

RYUJI: they have stuff other than custard buns ann

ANN: that just takes up room you could use for custard buns

YUSUKE: I’ve never been to dim sum.

REN: Do you like steamed buns and dumplings

YUSUKE: Absolutely.

YUSUKE: I’ve also been lead to believe they have custard buns there.

REN: Dunno where you heard that one

REN: Anyway, it’s settled

REN: Let’s meet in Shibuya after school

* * *

 

“Yusuke… are you carrying around literally everything you own?”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to leave his possessions behind in the school’s studio, having no good place to secure them, so he thought it would be simplest to bring his things with him attached to his wheeled suitcase. There was no word yet on the dorm, so he was expecting to spend another night in the studio, or perhaps ask the school librarian if he could spend the night in one of the softer chairs in the library.

Ann was the first to arrive at the station, and she was giving him a look of concern similar to when she first confronted him about Madarame’s abuses. “Why?”

He gave a short explanation of his current living situation that only served to deepen her look of concern. “You can’t just sleep in an art studio!”

“Of course I can. It isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as you’re making it sound.”

“And the way your principal is keeping you up in the air with this dorm business is just wrong!”

“Hey Ann, what’re you so worked up about?” Ryuji walked up with Ren close behind.

“Yusuke, tell them.” She pointed an accusing finger at him as though he had done something wrong when he most certainly had not. Yusuke sighed and launched into his explanation for the other boys’ benefit.

“Dude, you can’t just sleep in an art studio,” said Ryuji.

“That’s what I was trying to tell him! Ren, help.”

Ren shrugged. “He could probably crash on the couch at my place.”

“Oh -- that’s not what I meant! I meant help talk sense into him. Although I guess that would solve the problem.”

Morgana popped out of Ren’s bag. “I bet we could convince Boss once we explain the situation.”

“Boss?” said Yusuke curiously. “Where do you live?”

Ren rubbed the back of his neck. “I actually live above a cafe.”

“For real? That’s so cool!” said Ryuji. “So who’s this Boss guy Morgana mentioned?”

“It’s a long story, and I’m starving. Could I tell it over food?”

* * *

“So the way this works,” Ren was explaining to Yusuke, “is you have to flag down the waitresses with carts, then point out the things you want on the cart.”

“Interesting,” said Yusuke, framing the chaotic restaurant scene with his hands. It’d been a while since he painted something that was such a riot of color and life. “I’m not familiar with what’s on offer, though, so I’m not sure where to begin.”

“All the food is shared for the table, so we’ll probably just wait for the usual carts to come around and then get a little of everything.”

“Custard buns!” said Ann.

“Pork buns!” said Ryuji.

“Looks like we’ll have to find the buns first.”

“Do they have fish here?” Morgana’s muffled voice came from Ren’s bag.

“Not so loud, they’ll kick us out!” said Ann. “I don’t know if they have fish but there are shrimp dumplings. Would you like some of those?”

“Yes please!”

Ren had already caught the attention of a waitress, and a neat stack of round, wooden containers appeared on the table. Yusuke lifted one of them to see that it was full of steaming hot dumplings. He decided he liked this place.

“So,” said Ryuji, mouth full of pork bun, “backstory time, Ren.”

Ren’s expression was unreadable behind his glasses glare. “You first.”

“Aw, come on, I’m not that interesting.”

“Ann’s told me her deal, and we all pretty much know Yusuke’s, but you never told me yours, so it’s fair.”

“Fine, fine.” Ryuji precariously balanced his chair on the back two legs. “My dad was no good and he left when I was a kid. My mom raised me by herself. I wanted to help her out, y’know? But I was never good at school. The only thing I was ever good at was track.” He poked at the food left on his plate with his chopsticks. “I really was good at track though, I was captain of the team and everything. I thought that was my ticket to helping out my mom. But that asshole Kamoshida -- he hated the track team ‘cause it was taking attention away from his volleyball team. When he took over as the coach of track team, he yelled at us, beat us. One day he started sayin’ shit about my mom and dad, and -- I totally lost it. I punched him right in his smug-ass face.”

“He deserved it,” said Ann.

“Yeah, he did. But then he went all out attacking me back. In ‘self-defense,’ he said. Fuckin’ bullshit. Anyway, he broke my leg and screwed up my knee real bad, so I can’t run track any more. Now I got nothin’.”

“Except for us,” said Ren.

“Yeah, ‘cept you guys.”

“You’re totally stuck with us, so don’t forget,” said Ann.

Yusuke was stunned. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose the thing you’re most passionate about.”

Ryuji laughed nervously. “Geez, it sounds real dramatic when you put it that way.”

“Is that not an accurate assessment?” Yusuke couldn’t understand why he was trying to laugh this off. “At any rate, if you ever need assistance in finding something new to ignite your interest, I’ll be here for you as well.”

Ryuji looked like he didn’t quite know what to think of that. “Uh, thanks. Really.” He turned to Ren. “Anyway… it’s your turn, leader. No more stallin’.”

Ren’s glasses continued to block his expression as he took a deep breath. “Fine.”

“I was walking home from a friend’s house late at night -- “

“You had friends before us?” joked Ryuji.

“Quiet, Ryuji, let him finish!” Ann was leaning forward with interest.

_ “ As I was saying _ _,_ I was walking home from a friend’s house late at night, when I heard a woman yelling. When I turned the corner, there was a man grabbing this young woman’s arm and twisting it around. He was trying to force her into the car, and she was fighting and saying ‘no, no, no’.” The three were now looking at Ren with rapt attention, and Ann had turned somewhat pale. “I didn’t even really think about what I was doing -- I ran in and pushed him off her. He fell to the ground and hit his head. He started yelling about how he was gonna sue me.”

“But the woman you saved, she saw everything, right?”

“He told her that when the police showed up she had to say that I attacked him out of the blue, or he’d ruin her career. And that’s what she did. She told the police I attacked him, and I got arrested. That’s why I’m on probation for a year. My school kicked me out, my dad kicked me out -- “

“Your dad kicked you out? What the fuck?” Ryuji was getting increasingly heated.

“My dad is super uptight. He’s always angry. The only way to keep him placated is to be perfect. And I did that, for years.” Ren laughed bitterly. “Perfect grades, school clubs, the works. But I try to save some woman and  _ that’s _ what gets me kicked out.”

Yusuke was finding it increasingly difficult to contain his anger as well. “That is completely unacceptable. What happened once you were forced to leave your home?”

“They arranged for me to attend school at Shujin, which was apparently willing to take in a delinquent. And they sent me to serve out my probation with a guy Dad knew from work back in the day. He runs a coffee shop, and I’m living in the attic. Sojiro -- the guy who runs the coffee shop -- is all right, though. At first I thought he was gonna be a total hardass like my dad, but he’s actually pretty cool.”

Ann shook her head. “Even if living in the cafe is fine, none of the rest of this is. What are you gonna do?”

“Do? What do you mean?”

“We’re the Phantom Thieves, right?”

“Ryuji, not so loud!”

“I mean -- you know what I mean. The guy who got you arrested. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“For real? Can’t you just look up your court case or whatever?”

“He got the whole thing buried. His name doesn’t appear anywhere on it. I already looked.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” asked Yusuke.

Ren looked down at the remnants of food on his plate. “I can’t. It was dark, and -- to be honest, it was all a total blur.”

“Maybe you were in shock,” said Ann.

“Still, that’s  _ total bullshit!” _ said Ryuji, slamming his hands on the table and startling nearby patrons. “Oh, uh, sorry.” He took a deep breath and started again. “That’s total bullshit, Ren. We have to find this guy, and when we do, we’ve gotta change his heart.”

“I agree completely,” said Yusuke. “This is like destiny -- bringing justice down on people like that must be why we received these powers in the first place.”

“Definitely,” Ann added. “That’s exactly the kind of scumbag we need to take down.”

“That’s unanimous, then!” said Mona from Ren’s bag.

“Thanks, guys, that means a lot to me,” said Ren with a soft smile.

“You know,” said Ann, thoughtfully twirling her pigtails, “This is gonna sound weird, but I keep getting the strangest feeling. Like I’ve known all of you forever.”

Ryuji grinned. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Me too.”

Yusuke nodded slowly. He had never before been accepted by a group of friends, so he was unsure about how it was supposed to feel and continuously anxious that he would be rejected, but he understood precisely what Ann was saying. “Yes, I feel the same way.”

Ren laughed. “Honestly, you guys make it hard to remember I even had a life before this.”

“You had a life before this? I don’t believe you,” Ryuji teased, punching Ren’s arm.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I sprang fully formed from the floorboards in Boss’s attic.”

“Oh, that’s right, the cafe!” Ann was picking the last shrimp dumpling from a steamer. “What’s it like to live above a cafe?”

Ren shrugged. “Like I said, it’s fine. It’s kind of dusty but I have plenty of room. I got an old futon and a CRT TV from the secondhand shop that really gives it that trendy ‘forgotten storage unit’ look. The cafe part is cool though -- Boss makes great curry and all the coffee I can drink. Which is a lot. Boss is really good at making coffee, too.”

“I’d like to go there sometime,” said Ann.

“Why don’t we all go after we finish here? Get some after dinner coffee. I’m taking Yusuke with me anyway.”

Yusuke dropped his chopsticks. “What?”

“I already told you you could crash on my couch, if you don’t mind a dusty attic.”

“Thank you, but that is unnecessary.”

“You’re not planning to sleep in the studio again are you?”

“No,” said Yusuke. Ren narrowed his eyes and gave him a look he had only seen in Palaces when Ren was about to make a critical hit. “I mean, yes, but it truly isn’t a problem.”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Where do you sleep in the studio, anyway?”

“In… a chair? Where else would I sleep?”

Ren somehow narrowed his glare even further, as though he were trying to bore a hole through Yusuke’s head with his eyes alone. “You. Attic. Couch. Seriously.”

Ann stifled a giggle. “You really should take Ren up on that offer. Sleeping in a school chair can’t possibly be good for you.”

Yusuke tried very hard to keep a blush from appearing on his face when he thought of sharing a room with Ren for the night. “Very well. I appreciate your hospitality.”

Ren laughed. “It’s just a couch.”


	16. Fluorescent lights reflecting off linoleum.

Yusuke fell in love with Leblanc immediately.

The warm colors, the worn but clean booths with their chipped linoleum tables, the coffee canisters reflecting the late afternoon light, the smell of rich coffee and curry -- he knew  _ exactly _ what he wanted to try and paint next. The fact that Ren lived above such a charming cafe seemed almost impossibly romantic -- or perhaps he was simply emotionally overwhelmed from the fact that he had eaten more delicious food that day then he had in months. Before he even fully realized what he was doing, he had pulled his sketchbook from his bag and began drawing a quick impression of his surroundings.

There were no customers, but an older man at the counter with a stern look on his face. “Hmm. These friends from school? A girl, too?”

Ann stepped forward before Ren could say anything. “Hello! I’m Ann Takamaki, I’m from Ren’s homeroom class. Nice to meet you!”

“Oh, uh, and I’m Ryuji Sakamoto, I’m also friends with Ren.”

There was a long pause, which was the perfect opportunity for Yusuke to fill in the details of the old TV set in the corner and the refrigerator in the back. Looking at it from this angle, it was hard to get the perspective just right --

“Uh, your other friend there, is he  _ drawing _ me?”

Ren nudged Yusuke, who looked up from his sketch. “This is Yusuke Kitagawa... and I think he’s drawing the whole cafe?”

Yusuke quickly stashed his sketchbook. “Pardon me, your cafe filled me with such inspiration that I couldn’t still my hand from capturing it on paper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The older man, presumably the one Ren had called Boss, blinked twice in surprise. “I -- right. Okay. Well, I hope Ren hasn’t been giving you all any trouble.”

“Not at all!” said Ann brightly. “Actually, he’s been a great friend!”

Boss looked quite surprised once more. “Is that so? Well, it’s good to see you fitting in at school. Why don’t you all sit down and have some coffee on the house? Ren, help me make it.”

Ren grabbed an olive green apron from the back and tied it on, looking as much a part of the cafe as the coffee machines.

“Now, how do you kids like your coffee?”

“Cream and sugar, please,” said Ann. 

“Black, please,” said Yusuke.

“Oh, uh, none, please,” said Ryuji. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“When I was your age, I didn’t drink coffee either.” He took a bottle of soda from the fridge and slid it across the counter to Ryuji, who accepted it with thanks.

Yusuke watched with interest as Ren and Boss bustled about grinding and brewing coffee. It had been quite some time since he had had real coffee brewed fresh, not from a can or a machine.

Ann was served her cup first. “Delicious!” she proclaimed.

Ren carefully set a second cup in front of Yusuke. The smell was exquisite, and the taste its equal. “This coffee is excellent,” he tells Boss. “Its rich flavor and warmth put me in the mind of a hot day in the tropics.”

Boss raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Well… most coffee  _ is _ grown in tropical climates.”

“Yeah,” said Ren. “So, uh… I guess now’s a good time as any to ask if it’s okay for Yusuke to crash on my couch tonight.”

Boss looked from Ren to Yusuke back to Ren. “Crash on your couch? Why?”

“It’s a long story, but his home life sucks and he’s been sleeping on the floor of an art studio.”

“I was not sleeping on the floor,” protested Yusuke. “It was a chair, and it was merely one night.”

“See?” said Ren, gesturing accusingly at Yusuke. “See what I’m dealing with here?”

“Oh geez.” Boss facepalmed, and Yusuke took a large gulp of his coffee just in case he was about to be thrown out. The older man sighed heavily and shook his head, but his features softened. “Fine, fine, just don’t make any trouble, okay?”

“Of course not. No trouble. I promise,” said Ren.

“I promise as well,” said Yusuke.

“Nothing is more frightening to hear coming from a pair of high schoolers, you know that, right? I swear, teenagers will be the death of me.”

From behind Boss’s back, Ren grinned brightly and gave Yusuke a thumbs up. Yusuke smiled back.

* * *

Later that night, after Boss closed up the shop and Ryuji and Ann said their goodbyes, Yusuke was hauling his worldly possessions up the narrow staircase into Ren’s attic.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this much dust. Still, dust was acceptable. He was very used to dust from the atelier -- or more precisely, he was very used to his constant, low-grade dust allergy.

Ren spun around and flung his arms wide. “Welcome to my humble home. Emphasis on the humble.”

“It’s very… austere?” said Yusuke.

Ren gave him a mock glare. “Are you seriously going to critique the aesthetics of my shitty attic? Wait, no, forget I asked, of  _ course _ you’re going to critique the aesthetics of my shitty attic.”

“My apologies,” Yusuke chuckled. “You have already seen my former living quarters, so you know I am in no place to critique yours. I expect my future dorm room will not be any more impressive.”

“Do you know what it’s going to look like?”

“No, but I’ve heard from other students that they are tiny.” Yusuke shrugged. “It will have to do. I may not have room for my painting, but I have after hours access to the school studio.”

“Cool, cool.” Ren fidgeted. “So, uh… put your stuff anywhere, I guess, it’s not like you’re gonna disturb the feng shui.”

“You’ve arranged your furniture according to feng shui? How admirable.”

“Uh, no. That was a joke.”

“I see.” Yusuke stashed his things in the corner out of the way and, without really thinking about what he was doing, brought his fingers up to frame the scene.

“Please tell me you’re not going to try and paint my dusty gross attic.”

Yusuke’s frame centered on Ren. “Why, would that be unacceptable? I don’t find it gross.”

“Well, would you want your private bedroom painted and on display?”

Yusuke lowered his hands. “I’ve painted my bedroom several times. One’s in a private collection, I think.”

“That’s…” Ren’s mouth opened and closed. “Never mind. Anyway, there isn’t a full bathroom here, so I usually hit the bathhouse down the street before settling in for the night. So, uh, if you want to. You can come.”

“That is an excellent idea. I wasn’t able to properly wash up after sleeping in the studio.”

Ren nodded, his face once more unreadable. “Let’s go, then.”

Yusuke followed behind Ren, nearly tripping down the stairs when he realized the implications of what he had just agreed to. Ren didn’t notice.

* * *

 

It wasn’t as though Yusuke hadn’t seen naked men countless times in his studies. Even with Sensei’s disapproval of the male body as a subject of Yusuke’s art, figure drawing and anatomy references were still essential parts of an artist’s education. Even outside of class, there were ordinary bathhouse and locker room situations.

So this situation was completely normal and nothing to be embarrassed by, Yusuke reminded himself repeatedly as he stared intently at a particularly fascinating tile just over Ren’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Yusuke forced himself to look at Ren when he was talking, like a normal human being conducting a normal human conversation.

Madarame had warned him to never look at other men in a bathhouse. It was difficult to shake that thought from his head even though Madarame was far away in a prison cell and could do nothing to stop him from admiring Ren’s collarbones, which truly were exquisite.

“...listening, are you? You keep zoning out.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’ve been very rude. I suppose I have a great deal on my mind.” That was absolutely a valid excuse. Ren had no need to know that his collarbones were one of the things on his mind.

“Yeah, I can imagine. You have a plan for what you’re going to do… you know, money-wise?”

“Money…” Yusuke chewed his lip pensively. “I’m entitled to a small stipend from my scholarship, but…”

“Not enough, huh?”

“I’m sure I can make it work. I’ll just have to purchase cheaper art supplies.”

“You kind of say the words  _ cheaper art supplies _ the way some people would say  _ bubonic plague _ or  _ grandma murder. _ Does it really make that much of a difference?”

Yusuke was flooded with memories of a thousand irritations caused by the substandard supplies he often had no choice but to use -- the blobby paint that coated unevenly, the bristles with a mind of their own, the paper that tore --

“Okay, okay, I believe you.” Ren was laughing.

“I didn’t say anything…?”

“Your face said it.” Ren leaned back against the side of the bath. “You know you’re welcome to use the team funds if you need it for emergencies. I don’t think I can convince the others that cheap art supplies are an emergency, though, even if I showed them a picture of the face you just made.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Yusuke was already embarrassed by the amount of support Ren had given him, to be honest. He had no idea how he would repay the team for their kindness. “May I ask what you do for money? Are you working in the coffee shop?”

“Sometimes,” said Ren, with an air of evasion. “I do a lot of different things, really. Part time jobs, whatever will take a student. I work at the convenience store some. And there was -- actually.” Ren’s face lit up. “I know the perfect thing. I sometimes work at this flower shop, but I’m not all that good at it. The owner kind of got mad at me a couple weeks ago because I  _ might _ have made a bouquet the customer described as ‘hideous’ and ‘scraggly’.”

“I’d be interested to see this bouquet.”

“It wasn’t that bad! Anyway, I haven’t been back since. But I bet you’d be better at it than me. You’re an art guy, so you understand things like matching colors.”

“What colors were in the bouquet you made…?”

“Still not the point. I could get you the job info, though, if you’re interested.”

“Arranging flowers, hmm? I… suppose I could try that, yes.” Yusuke had never had a part time job, never even given it serious consideration despite his personal funds constantly running dry. Madarame had expressly forbid it and kept him busy enough that he wouldn’t have had the time anyway. Given his new circumstances, however, a part time job made a great deal of sense.

Many famous artists had worked humble jobs to support themselves, after all.

“Awesome, remind me to send you the job listing.” Ren was clearly pleased with himself, his smile bright and infectious. Yusuke felt a warm blush creeping up his face.

Actually, now that he thought of it, he was becoming flushed all over, and Ren was turning red as a lobster -- although it was becoming difficult to see him through all the steam. Yusuke suddenly realized that, like the proverbial frog in the pot, the water temperature had risen so gradually that he didn’t notice it until he was boiling.

Ren gestured to an old man at the other end of the bath. “Oh geez, this guy. He always makes the water way too hot. I swear he doesn’t have nerves. He might be a lizard person.”

“I can’t see him very well through the steam, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s true. He has scales and once I saw him sunning himself on a hot rock.”

“Truly?!”

“No.”

* * *

The “couch” that Ren had offered was little more than an old, repurposed booth seat from the cafe downstairs. It was lumpy and a little too short for Yusuke.

But he was out of the atelier, and he couldn’t remember the last time he went to bed on a full stomach with no pressing work deadlines. He could hear Ren breathing quietly and the soft noise of Morgana rearranging himself on the nearby futon.

He smiled, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm writing some more words. Sorry for the hiatus. Thanks for reading.


End file.
